As The Pendulum Swings
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: Beach. White Shadows. Edge. Literature. Clockwork. Floating. Illusion. Dark Diamond. Underlying. Spooked. .:. A collection of ten Roxas X Zexion oneshots with some hinted AkuDemy and other pairings in certain chapters. Rated M for various content.
1. Beach::

**A/N: Lately I've liked the RoxasXZexion pairing for absolutely no reason. I found some fanart of it after randomly drawing one tiny piece of my own, and suddenly I'm looking up fanfiction for it and find myself loving it. Especially if AkuDemy is the side-pairing. Thus, I decided to write my own little oneshot series, just to play around with this pairing more. **

**(There will be ten of these oneshots, in case you were wondering.)**

**But I must say, there are too many pairing names: Roxion, RokuZeku, ZekuRoku, Zexas… Yeah. Too many, LOL. XD**

**This first drabble was inspired by a fanart I found on dA by Rynies, called: "Roxion Summer." Search it. It's a beautiful fanart! (It's very shiny and adorable~)  
**

**

* * *

**

_.:Beach:._

Laughing, Roxas runs out of the shallow, warm seawater away from his friends Axel and Demyx. The two are currently locked in an epic water-battle, complete with squirt guns and kicks and slaps to the water's surface in order to get the other soaked.

The blond plops down in the sand, his green shorts riding up. He tugs them down and wipes salty droplets from his face as his hair begins to dry in the sun. Sucking in the dry, hot air, Roxas glances to his left to observe more of the redhead's and other blond's battle, as well as to sneak a peak at the other beach-goers.

Some kids from school are here. Roxas knows some of them by name. Sora and Kairi: two people from his neighborhood that have been friends for nearly as long as the two have been going out. Riku and Xion: an odd couple who met this year in choir, and have been together ever since. And then there's Xemnas and Saix, two friends that sometimes don't get along, and are two of the most popular seniors at school, simply because the two win almost every football game with their teamwork. There is also one other person Roxas spots from school: Naminé, a quiet, shy girl who appears to be drawing a picture of the ocean in oil pastels from her safe perch on the dock.

He smiles at the scene, because he feels comfortable here. He adores the beach; something new occurs each time that he comes here.

Glancing to his right this time, Roxas spots someone else: one of his close friends, Zexion. Frowning, the blond pushes himself to his feet, dusts the sand from his bottom and paces over to the lone boy. Zexion is reading. Why is he reading when the entire beach is open to him?

"Zexion," Roxas says as he takes a seat beside the older boy. "What are you doing over here by yourself?"

Roxas is a freshman, whereas Zexion is a junior like Axel. But Zexion looks like he could be a freshman, too; he is very short. But don't say that to him. He'll turn pink and tell you one of your own flaws. After all, Zexion is very observant.

But Roxas is observant, too; when he bothers to be.

"I'm reading, clearly," Zexion responds mildly. His voice is more hushed than usual, and either he has sunburn or he's blushing, because at the moment Roxas can't stop staring at the stripe of pink across the silvery-blue haired boy's cheeks.

"I meant: why are you all alone? Why don't you get in the water, or mess around with Axel and Demyx and me? We miss having you with us. You're not always like this."

"And we're not always at the beach," Zexion retorts as he places his finger in his book to hold his place and turns to look Roxas in the face. He knows that there is about to be an argument, like there usually is between them. "I'm not situated well when I'm at the beach. I'm out of my element."

"Then why did you agree to come with us, if you knew you wouldn't be doing anything?" Roxas tosses back, his arms folding over his chest.

The poet (Zexion is very talented with poetry; he wins the school-wide contest every year, ever since it began in middle school) shakes his head. "It is nothing of importance." His tone says, _'It's none of your business. I'm here, aren't I? So stop complaining.'_

Roxas scowls. "Stop it, Zexion. I hate it when you get like this. Why can't you just loosen up and have fun like the rest of us?"

The older boy looks away. He shuts his book completely, using a feather lying nearby as a bookmark. Then, suddenly, casts his gaze back on Roxas, succeeding in burning the blond's insides with such intensity in the eye contact. "Because I am not like the rest of you. I have _reason_ for my seclusion, and I try to keep my solitude, but you and Axel and Demyx seem not to care and seem to do everything you can to force me into your group. But I am tired of it."

The blond blinks slowly and drops his arms from his chest only to grab a fistful of sand. "Well, fine! If you're tired of it, then I guess I'll tell the guys that you hate them, and hate me, and that they should alienate you. How does that sound?" he spits out, and something quivers within him, something as hard and heavy and cold as a stone. He doesn't like fighting with Zexion; it feels wrong.

Zexion swallows shallowly, and blinks a couple times. "That's exactly what I want," he says softly, and Roxas can tell that it is a lie.

Roxas sighs disdainfully; how can Zexion act like this? It's stupid. "Stop it," he demands through grit teeth. "I can tell that you're not actually angry. Something else is eating at you. Look… I'm sorry that I got so accusatory. I didn't mean to. I just don't like seeing you by yourself. So let's pretend that fight never happened, because we obviously both didn't mean it, and let me ask you one last thing: What's wrong?"

Zexion is always surprised by Roxas's moments of kindness or understanding. It reminds him of a brunet he's seen around, a freshman like Roxas who happens to be tackling Zexion's cousin Riku at this very moment. He sighs and looks down at the sand between them. There is a piece of driftwood lying at his feet. He picks it up and draws something in the tannish-yellow grains.

"This is what's wrong," he murmurs, always straightforward. He refuses to look Roxas in the eyes.

Roxas stares at the drawing. It's a heart. An outline of the symbol for love and other emotions, but Roxas knows that none of the other emotions are the ones being said here. He looks up at Zexion with wide blue eyes. It hadn't been sunburn on he boy's face; if it had, it couldn't have let and then come back again, like it's doing now. Zexion is embarrassed. And he's only acting petulant because he's in love with someone.

A little 'O' forms on Roxas's lips. He lowers his voice and scoots a hair closer, careful not to harm the little drawing. "So that's why. The person you like is here today. Right?"

A little unsurely, Zexion nods. His face appears nonchalant, but Roxas can see the fragments of emotion flicker in the poet's eyes.

"Who is it? Maybe I can help you."

"You can't help, Roxas," Zexion mutters as he keeps his gaze on the heart drawn in the sand.

"I beg to differ. Come on, let me guess: it's Demyx. Am I right?"

"No," Zexion states simply. "Too annoying."

"Axel?" he tries again.

"No; too much of an asshole. And why do you keep guessing solely males?"

The spiky-haired blond shrugs. Zexion never seemed like the heterosexual type to Roxas. He tries one last time with he only other person Zexion knows well enough to be in love with. "Is it me? Am I the one you like?"

Zexion visibly freezes, his muscles tense all over. He stares at his purple and blue swimming trunks. He nibbles the inside of his lip prior to replying in a barely audible voice, "Yes."

The silvery-blue haired boy doesn't know what to expect upon confessing. He simply awaits Roxas's response.

"Oh, I see," Roxas murmurs gently. "That accounts for a few things that you've been doing around me lately." He pauses, and mimics one of Zexion's signature poses: he puts his hand to his chin in thought, his finger skimming his bottom lip. "Hmm. This poses as a problem."

"Why?" Zexion dares to ask, his stomach churning in anxiety. He has never been very good with emotions. "Why is this a problem?"

Zexion thought of the possibilities: it's a problem because Roxas is straight. It's a problem because Roxas likes someone else. It's a problem because Roxas thinks they work better as friends. It's a problem because Roxas is secretly dating somebody. The list of possibilities doesn't cease its nagging in Zexion's mind, and he finds himself growing even more tense.

But then, thankfully, Roxas does something: he drops his hand from his chin and smiles. "It's a problem because I want to do something, but I'm afraid of what everybody else will think."

While Zexion puzzles over this for two seconds, his eyebrows furrowing and his lower lip tightening against his upper one, Roxas plans to carry out the action anyhow. He closes the distance between them by kneeling in front of Zexion, and then proceeds to lean forward and kiss the older boy.

Zexion is no longer puzzled. His eyes fall shut and he hums in surprise for a moment prior to succumbing to Roxas's intent and moving his lips along Roxas's. They can feel the compatibility between them as Roxas lowers Zexion to lay in the sand by applying pressure to his shoulder, his other hand behind the silvery-blue head. Zexion's own hand on Roxas's hip, his other lying curled, useless, off to the side.

The two don't stop until they are panting and their tongues are parting from a wild dance, onlookers either giggling or looking away in disgust.

In the distance, Naminé smiles and finishes the touches on a new pencil sketch. She loves the beach; something new occurs each time she comes here.


	2. White Shadows::

_.:White Shadows:._

I linger in the doorway, too short to be noticed, too bright to be seen, and too bland to be recognized. I debate with myself on whether or not I should continue to be like a white shadow, something that doesn't exist and isn't there, and whether to instead make myself known and enter the great hall, or shrink back into the bleak, silvery whiteness and become even more of nothing.

But no, I can't debate with myself forever. I need to make a decision, now or never. Now or never. Now or…

I take in a deep breath and hold onto it, this breath acting as my lifeboat. I pace past the doorframe and ignore my surroundings. I know what should be around me presently: books, computers, other office supplies containing all of Ansem's apprentices' work. I choose not to look at all of it, however. It confuses me; all of the information on hearts and notes on Keyblades and Heartless and Nobodies like ourselves all jotted down and typed up and posted for all to see.

I'm only here because I'm seeking out someone in specific. Somewhere in this Castle That Never Was, there is someone who is going to be going with the selected group to the back-up headquarters, Castle Oblivion, and I want to find them before they leave. I heard from Xigbar that Castle Oblivion is supposed to be a dangerous, high-risk mission. I'm worried, because two of the non-beings I call friends are going to be there.

I already said goodbye to Axel just two hours ago. But right now, my main priority is my other friend, the only other white shadow who stalks these corridors like I do. I'm searching for him, because this might be the last time I see him for all I know. Nothing is certain.

"Zexion?" I call out meekly as I tread place to place. Where can he be?

I pass Demyx, who is strumming casually on his blue sitar. He hears me call Number Six's name and stops me with a loud chord. "He isn't here, last time I checked," Demyx informs me. "Try his bedroom."

I thank him and make my way down a level to the living quarters. They are numbered with our Roman numeral titles, from greatest to least with Number One – the Superior's – bedroom at the end of the hall. It's the biggest and most elaborate, since Xemnas is one cocky bastard. I dislike him, but I have no say in any orders he gives me. After all, I'm the second to lowest in rank, being number Thirteen of the Organization. Xion is not far behind me.

"Zexion?" I call for what feels like the thousandth time as I give a little rat-a-tap-tap on his door. There is some shuffling within as a response, and I smile briefly because I'm glad that I finally found him, and am able to catch him tonight before he leaves tomorrow.

"Enter," the Shadow-walking Schemer's voice sounds, and a part of me relaxes. For some strange reason, Zexion's voice never fails to calm me. It must be the low, melodic tune that does it.

I twist the knob and take a teeny step inside. Closing the door behind me, I locate Zexion in the far corner of his room, curled up in his favorite chair: the only source of true color in the room, large and round and purple, and extremely comfortable. Zexion is in the center dip of the chair, his legs crossed at the knee and a huge tome propped up in his lap. He's writing something, the scratching of his fountain pen being the lone noise echoing throughout the room, aside from my own breathing (which, come to think of it, sounds unusually harsh in my ears).

I sit on his bed to be perfectly opposite of him. "You're leaving for Castle Oblivion tomorrow," I state rather flatly.

"Indeed I am," Zexion sighs dejectedly. I can tell that he doesn't wish to go, not in the least. "And I resent it."

"How come?"

"Because I would rather be here," he states simply. He turns the page of his journal and scribbles something else, ends it with an emphasized punctuation, and shuts the tome.

I want to ask him why that is, but I'm cut off by Zexion's abrupt action of standing from his seat and sweeping across the room elegantly to place his precious book on its proper shelf. That book is a mystery to me; it serves as a weapon and a personal/informational item, and the combination is intriguing.

I place my hands under my knees to warm them as I fidget on Zexion's bed. It's chilly in his room, and I don't know why. I know it's always colder in Vexen's and Demyx's rooms because they have ice and water elements for powers, and it's always hotter in Axel's room because he has a fire element as a power, but I never understood why Zexion has such a freezing room while I have such a warm, cozy one.

"What kind of stuff do you write in that book of yours?" I pose as Zexion turns around to inspect every inch of me like he usually does when he sees me; he finds me interesting, I suppose, since I can use the Keyblade.

In place of an answer to my question, Zexion raises a question of his own. "Are you uncomfortable? My room can be a tad nippy at times, I know." He pauses to advert his gaze and runs a hand over some of his novels. Then: "If you would like, you can use one of my blankets. I don't mind."

I flush a little at the unexpected offer. I send him a tiny smile. "Thanks, I will. It is cold in here." I crawl over to the top of the bed and slip under the covers, wrapping them around me as tightly as possible to trap the heat more successfully.

Surprisingly, Zexion joins me. He casually climbs into his bed with me and snuggles under the covers. "I have a theory that we get colder than normal humans, since we lack a heart to circulate blood. Notice that you don't have a heartbeat, if you touch your hand to your chest. Like this," he teaches, his voice level and lacking emotion.

He grabs one of my hands, forces it to ungrip the sheets, and removes its black glove. My naked hand comes into contact with the triangle of exposed skin on his collarbone, and I feel another flush wash over my face. The action is less an action of blood flow and more an action of memory, like Axel mentioned to me once ("Are you blushing? You must've remembered how to be embarrassed, then. Not that you actually can_ feel real embarrassment,_ but you get what I mean, right, Shorty?").

Sure enough, I don't feel a heartbeat beneath my fingertips like a vague part of my memory tells me I should be able to do. So Zexion is right; we get cold easily because we have no hearts to pump blood and keep us warm. We are like food left out on the counter: it becomes whatever temperature the room happens to be.

"But I've found that we generate some body heat of our own, since our bodies do have energy, and energy can produce heat. So in order to get warmer, we can be close to other beings like ourselves," the Schemer goes on to say, and he scoots closer to me until we are touching.

I blink, because only when we are alone – completely out of sight and contact from the others – does Zexion ever act like this towards me. But this time is different; why is he acting especially friendly tonight?

"Zexion…" I begin, about to verbalize my inner thoughts. But Zexion silences me with a look, his eyes – from this closeness and angle, I can see both of them, even past his hair – speaking volumes to me.

"I'm not prone to emotion, but I can feel the ghost of fear nagging at me, Roxas. I know how dangerous this mission is, and while I have clever battle strategy, I am not the most skilled fighter; if my weaknesses are exposed during this mission, I could surely be wiped out. And I don't want to stop existing, despite the lack of existence I possess," Zexion confesses, his face, for once, exposing the inner conflict that his tone reveals.

I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze, my still ungloved one meeting up with his (he doesn't wear his gloves when he writes, I noticed). His skin feels clammy with cold and fear, and I can feel his nerves flow into me. I don't let go.

"Zexion," I say softly, "We might be doomed to be while shadows – improbable, nearly-nonexistent beings – but it doesn't mean that we can't at least try to be real." I glance in the other direction, my fingers lacing with his on their own account. My eyes still focused on his room, I rephrase, "What I'm saying is, it's alright if you feel afraid, and it's alright that you want at least a little bit of comfort from a friend – because we _can_ have friends, Axel at least taught me that much – before facing a challenge. So, um, I guess what I really mean is this: I'm here for you."

He stares at me for a moment, and I timidly return the eye contact. Then, slowly, he murmurs his reply.

"Thank you, Roxas," he says. "At least I can count on you, if no one else."

And he leans his head onto my shoulder, and unusually affable act on his part, and I return the gesture. I lay like that with him for a while: my head resting on his, his head on my shoulder, and my right and his left hand laced together between us.


	3. Edge::

_.:Edge:._

He was on the brink.

The brink of insanity, the brink of morality, the brink of despair.

He despised the dreaded brink.

It was like hanging off the edge of a building by one hand – nay, one single _finger_! – and yet still trying to pull yourself up. You prayed and you hoped and you pleaded that you didn't fall, but you knew that you were going to fall anyhow, because how can one thread hold up an entire anvil?

He felt like that. He felt like an anvil being hung by a string, a string as thin and frail as fishing like, just waiting to recoil and break with a loud snap.

He wanted to cry.

But to cry would be to give in, so he merely paced along the brink like a tightrope walker with nowhere to go. He hated the edge so very much. Why can he never remain balanced safely within the limits? Why must he be forced out onto the edge, the awful, awful brink of all that is sound and sane?

But when all seemed lost like it often did, there was always the cellular phone.

Zexion found it one evening while walking in the city park, all of his temptations laid out before him as he internally argued with himself and debated over jumping off the edge and allowing his insanity and all that it entails to consume him. The cell phone had been lying there, and so he picked it up and brought it home. He figured he would find its owner sooner or later after making some calls to the contacts on the contact list.

But that hadn't been necessary. That night, the phone rang, and being polite, Zexion answered it.

The phone, he soon discovered, belonged to a young blond man, still on his last year of college, who had lost the phone a week prior and had been lucky that no rain or misplaced feet had fallen upon it, nor animals carrying it away. But, Roxas said, he didn't need the phone any longer, since he got a new one just that day. He decided to call his old number, however, to see if somebody was at all using the phone or if it had been broken. He was fortunate that the battery had withstood the roller-coaster temperatures while the cell phone had been shut off all this time.

Roxas told Zexion to keep the cell phone, since Zexion admitted to not having one since he couldn't afford it (Zexion was out of college, and therefore trying to pay off his student loans from when he had attended school). Roxas promised to continue to pay for the phone as long as Zexion used it and kept in contact. When Zexion asked why Roxas wanted to keep in contact with a total stranger, Roxas said it was because Zexion had a lovely voice.

The blond student also admitted that there were only two contacts in his cell phone: his cousin Naminé and his ex-boyfriend Axel. He didn't have any friends, and Zexion seemed friendly enough.

Zexion found it strange, but he kept his promise. He used the phone, deleted the old contacts and added new ones as instructed, and talked to Roxas on occasion.

Without understanding how, Zexion fell in love with the faceless blond man. He knew everything about Roxas save for what the young man looked like, but Zexion didn't care. Roxas unknowingly protected him; he saved Zexion from constantly being on the brink. Roxas ripped Zexion from the edge, and held him with his words.

"You sound so alone," Roxas said once. "Your voice is always so sad, and I never hear any background noise when we talk together. Don't you have anyone?"

Zexion had sighed in response. He stated matter-of-factly: "No. I dated only once. It was a guy named Demyx. He left me when his music career took off."

Roxas already knew that, like himself, Zexion was homosexual. It was a lucky find for them both, but then again, Tokyo is a big city.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Roxas murmured. "I've dated a lot since high school. I'm a little ashamed of how many guys I went through: Hayner, Sora, Seifer, Riku, Axel. All of them were within the time span of about three years. I'm awful," he said, and his tone made Zexion picture the twenty-year-old shaking his head. "Some of them dumped me, and I dumped some of them. I thought I was in love with two of them, though; Sora and Axel. When I was with each of them, I was at my happiest." The tone lightened up a bit as he said next, "But now, I'm at my happiest when I'm talking to you."

Zexion was taken aback by this remark. He flushed a deep crimson. "Are you saying–?"

Roxas chuckled on the other end of the line. He sounded nervous. "Yeah, I am. I think I love you, Zexion, even if I've never met you. Is that weird? Or creepy?"

"N-no, not at all," Zexion replied lowly. Roxas actually succeeded in making the older man stutter, a feat that is not easy to accomplish.

Roxas laughed a little more, clearly very nervous. "And you don't… mind?"

"No…" Zexion returned gently. "Not at all." He paused to cover his mouth with one hand, half in thought and half out of habit for whenever he felt insecure. How could Roxas love someone as messed up as Zexion? And he knew about Zexion's level of fucked-up-ness, because Zexion told him before, multiple times. They've been talking for close to a year, now. "Can we meet?" Zexion requested.

"You… You meant you actually want to?" Roxas answered, his tone shocked and gleeful at the same time.

"No, that's why I didn't suggest it," Zexion countered with subtly joking sarcasm.

Roxas chuckled again, this time with relief. "Yeah… Yeah, okay. Let's meet. You know the park where you found my phone? Let's meet at its entrance. I'll be the blond guy with a black and white checkered wristband. Trust me, no one else wears one like mine; I made it myself to match some black and white rings Sora got for me when we used to date. So look for me. Is tomorrow at three o'clock all right with you? It's after my last class of the day ends."

"Yes, that's perfectly fine," Zexion answered, and it took every ounce of his self-control to conceal his joy. He was no longer on the brink; Roxas became the safety net wrapped around him to keep from jumping, the straight jacket hugging him to keep from self-inflicted wounding, and the set of morals to keep from behaving out of line.

And Zexion loved the blond for it.


	4. Literature::

_.:Literature:._

I could live inside literature. I could quite literally crawl inside of a book and become part of the story, living forever in the confines of pages that create an entire other world.

Lexaeus, a friend of mine, thinks I'm crazy for thinking so. He says it's just a fantasy, something impossible that can't happen, unlike his puzzles, which always have a realistic, solid answer. Fantasies lack both realism and solidity, but I don't care. The illusion that I am part of a story with I read it is the only comfort I have, considering the fact that I get no comfort at home.

I strongly dislike my family. My brothers, Kadaj, Loz, Yazoo, and Riku, are a nuisance. Of them, I think Riku is the only sane one. Our father, Sephiroth, is never home. When he is, he drinks and occasionally beats us if we do something wrong. I hate him. And the worst part is, I never knew who my mother was. She died after giving birth to me, the youngest. Riku, the second-youngest, doesn't remember her; he was barely fourteen months old when she passed away. But Loz, the eldest, says that she was sweet and beautiful and loving. I wish I could have known her.

Now don't get me wrong, I do like certain aspects of our family. Despite having a non-involved, slightly abusive father, our sibling relationships are relatively close. Kadaj, the middle child, acts like our surrogate father, always playing the role of the leader. Riku and I are the closest in age, and therefore fight the most, but we're also the best of friends. I tell Riku everything, and he does the same with me. We argue a lot, but we at least can keep each other's secrets.

One secret I have is all of my literature fantasies. I read and write all sorts of amazing things, and Riku is the only person who reads them with me. He's a much harder worker than I am – half of the time I pass my chores to him, and he has a part-time job – but he still enjoys his quiet-time, of which he spends reading alongside me in our father's otherwise unused study.

A secret that Riku has is that he's in love. He tells me all sorts of details about the person he likes, and secretly I gush over it because I'm a closet romantic. At heart, I long for somebody to be in love with, but I don't show it outwardly whatsoever.

One day, Riku finally asks out his crush, and they say yes. Ecstatic, he brings the person home for us to meet. Personally, I think this would be a bad idea, but the person is extremely accepting of our wild bunch of four brothers.

"Hey everyone," Riku says a bit shyly, "This is Xion. She's Sora's cousin who recently transferred to my school."

Riku and I are the last of our five to be in high school. He's a senior, and I'm a junior. I can't wait to leave, because by the sound of it, college is a hell of a lot better. But Riku seems content, and I think it's because of Xion.

"We're going to go out on a double-date with Sora and Kairi. We'll see you later," Riku says, and just as quickly as he introduced his girl, the two were saying goodbye.

"It was nice meeting all of you," Xion says with a cutesy smile and a wave. She has short black hair and big bluish-indigo eyes, and she is small – shorter than I am – and petite. Her voice is endearing, and her smile is contagious. I can see why Riku likes her so much.

I retreat to my motorcycle the second Riku frees up the driveway. My bike is the opposite of intimidating; it's basically one tiny step up from a motocross dirt bike, but I love it anyway. It's my other little treasure aside from my books.

I hop on and rev it up, peeling out of the driveway in a hurry to escape the cracks I'm sure my other three brothers are going to make about Riku's girlfriend. I hate it when they do things like that; they can be huge jerks. Loz is a big softie, but even he laughs at some of the cruel things Kadaj and Yazoo come up with.

I pull into the parking lot of the nature reserve walking trail. I come here often to clear my head, or find a peaceful spot off-path under a tree to read or scribble in my journal. I don't keep a diary or blog; too bothersome. Instead, I make up poetry, song lyrics, or short stories about everything varying from comedy to horror to romance.

Today isn't any different. I have a small over-the-shoulder bag with me that has a black ballpoint pen, my latest journal (I fill them up quickly), and my current novel. I chose a memoir this time, in order to peer into someone else's actual life story. I chose one about a girl in an insane asylum who has been diagnosed with schizophrenia. It's very interesting, and her writing style is vivid, poetic, and lovely.

Sighing happily, my lips break out in a rare smile as I inhale the early spring air. It's only March, but today is unusually warm, and everything is finally beginning to bud and blossom. It smells sweet, fresh, and green out here. I adore it. Here, I don't need to worry about prying eyes or annoying siblings or people who have a lover while I don't; I can be myself here, emotional mask removed and inner spirit unleashed.

I have a special spot to sit that is off of the sixth trail of the nature reserve. It's by a small pond beneath a weeping willow tree whose branches graze the water and whose leaves tickle me whenever the wind blows.

I start humming lowly to myself as I finally reach the aforementioned location, and I start to trek across the miniature clearing when I notice something strange: there is a figure in my spot in the center of the canopy of willow tree whips.

I frown. Who else knows of this spot besides me? It's not an easy place to find; I got lost while exploring the woods one day when I stumbled across it. So how come this person is here?

I turn away and start to head back the way I came (it defeats the purpose to have someone else here in my special place), but I step on a trig and it breaks with an ear-shattering snap.

I tense mid-step, because as soon as the twig breaks, a distinctly male voice calls out, "Is somebody there, or am I just talking to a bold animal?"

I slowly turn around to find the figure standing, his head panning the view around him to try and determine whether or not I'm actually here. I'm found; he sees my hair, which is a vibrant silvery-blue, starkly contrast my neutral-colored clothing.

"Hello there," the man – no, he looks too short and sounds too young to be a man; he must be a boy – says to me. He waves me over.

I hesitate. Should I go say hello to the stranger? On the one hand, I'm not good with people, but on the other hand, what harm could it do?

I shift my bag higher up my shoulder and decide to pace his way. When I come into full view, I notice with a slight leap in my stomach that the boy is giving me the "once-over," his cerulean blue eyes zipping up and down my frame. A smile touches his lips.

"My name's Roxas. What's yours?" he asks, and by looking at him, I estimate his age to be approximately a year or two younger than I am.

"Zexion," I reply cautiously. Everything in my body is going into fight-or-flee mode, the 'flee' option sounding the most tempting at the moment.

The blond stranger offers his hand for a formal shake. "Nice to meet you."

I stare at his hand for a second before responding. His nails are painted black, he's wearing about two dozen mismatched bracelets on both wrists, and there are two rings – one black, one white – on his index and middle fingers. His cuticles are chewed, and there are a few bloody-but-healing red spots next to some of his nails where he ripped off the loose cuticles too far.

After a brief handshake, Roxas asks why I'm here in this secluded, hidden place.

"It's my…" I stop myself from sounding childish, about to call it 'my secret hideout.' Instead, I finish with: "…Favorite spot. I come here often for some alone-time away from my brothers."

Roxas nods. "I know how you feel. I usually come to this park to get away from my own brothers. How many do you have? I have two."

"I have four," I reply, and I can tell by his expression that I won the unsaid competition of who better deserves their alone time.

He whistles lowly. "Damn. I don't think I'd be able to handle that." He chuckles. "My twin, Ven, and my younger brother, Sora, are enough."

"Sora?" I repeat, the name more than just familiar. "Does he have chocolate-brown hair and hang around a guy named Riku?"

Roxas's facial expression changes from amusement to surprise. "You know my brother?"

I nod. "He's Riku's friend. Riku is one of my siblings."

"Wow. Weird," Roxas says, his expression thoughtful. It's amazing to watch how his outward emotions shift so rapidly, unlike my own that normally stays the same for long periods of time. "Your brother and my brother are friends. How come we've never met before?"

I shrug one shoulder and adjust my bag on the other. "Who knows?"

He looks me over. "There's hardly any resemblance between you and Riku."

It's true. We barely look like brothers. But, "You somewhat look like Sora; you have the same eyes, at least."

"Courtesy of our father," Roxas jokes. "He has the same blue eyes."

I nod again, and suddenly, I feel like there isn't much to say. But I hate awkward silences, so I ask: "What were you doing before I showed up?"

"Oh!" Roxas says as if he had forgotten. He glances down, and I notice a backpack behind him. "I was doing homework. We have to read _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ for Literature and Composition class. It's a little old, but it's a good book. Not much like the Disney movie, though." And he laughs. It's a pleasant sound.

"Disney fucks everything up," I retort, but it's meant to be playful.

Roxas nods. "I know what you mean. But hey, when I was a kid, I was a sucker for it."

"Me too," I answer truthfully. "It was like being inside of a storybook." I suddenly raise my hand to my mouth, because I hadn't meant to say that second part aloud; only Riku knows about my obsession with pretending to be inside of fiction. And yet I just told this stranger…

"Really? That's always what I thought, too," the blond says, and he smiles again. My lungs temporarily cease to function. "I love inserting myself into anything literature-based; it's better than a video game or texting or something else mindless."

I can't believe my ears. Someone else shares my love of literature? It's a miracle.

Something inside of me lights up, a spark I didn't know there was an ignition line for. I find myself smiling minutely. "I do the same thing. Who needs a computer or something when I can have a book instead?"

"Not many people think that way any more," Roxas says sadly. "Our whole generation is shit. They only care about Facebook and vampire series, and they diss all of the classics."

I nod wholeheartedly. "It disgusts me. I wish there were more people our age who still remembered what it was like to not have an iPod or something to reoccupy them, only books to read to pass the time."

"Exactly! Finally, someone who gets it!" Roxas says in a chipper tone. He smiles, his eyes sparkling. "I think we could become friends, too," he says, referring back to our brothers.

I don't smile in return, but my eyes cast him a fond look, and that's a start. "I think so, too."


	5. Clockwork::

_.:Clockwork:._

Unable to sleep with his best friend so close to him in the room, Zexion lays stiffly with his arms at rest on his stomach. He lays there and tries to capture the essence of the night on his tongue as a breeze sweeps in from his window. The breeze tastes of early summer, of wet dew and purple midnight and a warm moon.

He licks his dry lips and ponders things; unimportant, factual, thoughtless things that simply _are _and need not be questioned, but he finds himself questioning them anyhow.

He brings a memory to the surface, the one of how he and his best friend, Roxas, met:

--0--

It was in the third week of school this past year, during English 101-I, the honors general education class provided at Sanctuary Community College. The town of Sanctuary is small, and so Zexion thought he knew everybody his age; but, apparently, he didn't, because there Roxas was, an unfamiliar face in the classroom.

Zexion remembers liking Roxas instantly; the blond appeared to be the only other person in the honors class who actually _wanted_ to be there. Plus, his nose was deep in a book – _Dante's Inferno, _Zexion had noted – and such an action was one Zexion did all the time. He could feel that they had something in common, something having to do with the love of literature.

But being the sort of person who doesn't introduce himself unless he absolutely has to, Zexion waited for Roxas to notice him. He waited until Roxas came up to the fellow bookworm and introduced himself.

Zexion got his wish. Two days later, on Friday, the teacher told them they were to choose partner for a complex photo-essay project she was assigning. She explained that photo essays are akin to a miniature, simpler version of a documentary, so a group of at least two was required.

Zexion and Roxas were the only pair who didn't already have a friend or somebody they knew in the class. Loners. So, naturally, they were set up almost immediately.

"Hi. We aren't acquainted, but it looks like we'll have to be for this project. My name is Roxas."

And they became close friends ever since.

--0--

Looking back on it, Zexion wonders how they came to fit together so smoothly, like

_(cogs and gears in a clock)_

Puzzle pieces. He wonders why it is they immediately got along, despite the fact that Zexion was as quiet as

_(the ticking of a watch's hands)_

A mouse, and just as weary of other people. Zexion and Roxas seem to constantly distance themselves from others,

_(like an hourglass on a mantelpiece)_

And yet they found and stuck to one another, unable to escape. They are like

_(clockwork)_

Magnets, opposite poles that draw the other in. Even now, in the wee hours of the morning, it is difficult for Zexion to concentrate on anything outside of Roxas's steady breathing.

He glances over at the blond. He studies Roxas's calm, expressionless face, lax with sleep. He watches as the moon's shadow crawls across the bridge of Roxas's nose and spills onto his forehead, illuminating the spiky blond locks above. If he were bored enough, Zexion could count Roxas's eyelashes like

_(the seconds passing on a clock face)_

Imaginary sheep in order to break his insomnia, but the bookworm finds that it is much more satisfying to lean over and place three long fingers on Roxas's warm chest to count the beats of his heart instead.

Roxas reminds Zexion of

_(a sturdy, reliable grandfather clock, intricate and beautiful; a treasure unlike any other, something that must be held onto and kept for the remainder of his life)_

…He isn't sure what. Roxas is nearly impossible to describe, partially because Zexion fears that, in describing his friend, he might accidentally let slip a few emotions he has been keeping secret for a couple months now.

--0--

"Zexion," Roxas calls, and Zexion is disturbed from a rather pleasant sleep, something dusty and cloudy with cobwebs like the antique wood and metal gears of an ancient clock.

"Hmm?" the slightly older boy hums in a tired drawl. He stirs slightly, but is otherwise still half-asleep.

"You're… um… on top of me. I can't get up."

The words startle Zexion into sitting position. He realizes with a hazy-headed, hot-faced flush that Roxas had been right; Zexion, during his counting of his friend's heartbeats, had laid his head down on the other's chest, curled his arm around the blond's waist, and fallen asleep with his legs tucked up closely to Roxas's legs.

This is the problem with sleepovers, Zexion understands all too intensely.

But Roxas is kind. He smiles sheepishly and taps Zexion on the shoulder. "You know, if you were cold, you could have just taken the blankets instead. I wouldn't have cared, because I don't get cold at night like you do."

The bookworm is thankful for his friend's misunderstanding; it makes for a much more believable excuse: Zexion hadn't cuddled because he was fond of Roxas as more than friends, but because he had been chilly during the night. It makes perfect sense, so Zexion goes with it.

"Sorry," he says, "Next time I'll wake myself up and take the blankets."

Roxas gives another small smile, and then it's gone and he's getting up and out of bed to carry out his usual morning routine.

Zexion nearly lifts his lips into a smile. Nearly. Instead, he shakes his head to wipe his mind of the little incident and his thoughts from last night.

It all happens so smoothly…

Like clockwork.


	6. Floating::

_.:Floating:._

During the periods when he is rendered unconscious for lengthy bouts of time, Roxas dreams of so many things that both confuse and intrigue him.

Some of the dreams are like memories: warm, familiar, and vaguely related to the present. Roxas dreams of people with Keyblades, he dreams of friends that are not his own, and he dreams of fighting Heartless and bigger, different enemies.

When he wakes, he usually doesn't remember what it is he dreamt; only that he had had a headache and passed out for a while. Axel is usually the first one to inform him of how long he slept this time; the redhead even jokes that Roxas and Xion are becoming regular narcoleptics, but Roxas can tell by the look in the pyro's emerald eyes that he knows a whole lot more about the situation than he's letting Roxas to believe.

But there is one dream Roxas has when he sleeps normally each night that haunts him. It is a dream of his body immersed in too much light and in need of the darkness. In the dream, he is floating in midair, his body rigid and fearful of how much light there is. He keeps floating, drifting and flexing, loosening and tightening, and all the while unable to right himself and stand on solid ground.

In this dream, there is always a spot of darkness Roxas attempts to crawl and hide inside of, because the light is blinding, white, all-seeing and all-consuming. He craves the darkness, and once he finally reaches it, the dream usually ends.

But recently…

Recently, Roxas's dream continues from there. He is finally able to see what comes next in the sequence.

After Roxas scrunches his body up into a fetal position, he floats into the darkness like a drop of water being accepted into the comforting soil. It is surprisingly warm in the darkness and cold in the light, so once he's inside, he calms and relaxes fully. The darkness soothes him, and wraps its arms around him lovingly.

But then the arms of the darkness become actual human-looking arms cloaked in black, with black gloves on the hands; Organization XIII attire. Roxas knows this person, whoever they are.

They murmur into his ear, "I'll keep you safe from the light," with a protective tone to their voice. The voice itself has a deep, rich tenor, and Roxas definitely knows this voice from somewhere.

Roxas tries to turn in the arms to face the person, but the mysterious friend holds him tighter, rendering Roxas motionless.

"Don't leave," the voice says, the breath of the murmur tickling Roxas's ear. The person mistook Roxas's movement for those of escape. The blond tries to clarify, but for some reason his own voice doesn't work in this dream-world. The person behind him goes on to plead in a virtually expressionless tone, "Don't leave me, Roxas. If you leave, then I can't protect you. Stay here. Please, stay here with me."

The blond isn't sure what to do, because he feels like he needs to be somewhere else all of a sudden, and at the same time, all he wants to do is see who is standing behind him, holding him in such a way.

He half-turns his head, and out of the corner of his eye, the person's face and hair are constantly morphing, changing from Axel to Demyx to the brunet, Sora, from his other dreams, to his own face, To Xion's, and then, finally, to Zexion's.

Roxas is startled from his dream when the faceless person becomes Zexion. He doesn't know why, but the idea of Zexion being so close and protective towards him is a little evocative. The image lingers in Roxas's mind for over a day.

Then, two days after the bizarre dream, Roxas runs into Zexion; literally.

"You should be more in control of where you walk," Zexion lightly criticizes as he stands and picks up his book, which had been dropped in the process of bumping into one another.

"Sorry," the Keyblade wielder mutters softly. He looks up and catches Zexion staring at him. "What?"

Zexion adverts his eyes. "Nothing. I'll be seeing you, Thirteen." And he walks down the hall away from the blond at a slightly faster pace than usual. Roxas frowns in puzzlement after the Schemer.

The following day, it happens again.

He stumbles across Zexion in the library; again, literally.

The blond wobbles on a ladder while trying to reach a book on a high shelf, and Zexion is below, looking for a book on a lower shelf, and as they say, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

Zexion lunges to catch him, but Roxas is not much lighter than Zexion himself, so they both ended up collapsing onto the ground in a heap of limbs.

"…This time, it seems, I cannot scold you on controlling yourself. The old, rickety ladder is to blame," Zexion grumbles irritably as he forces himself to sit up. Roxas is on his stomach, sprawled across Zexion's lap uncomfortably. "Would you kindly remove yourself from me?"

"Uh," the blond gasps, the wind having been knocked out of him. He hisses in pain and rolls onto his back, landing on the floor beside the person who had somewhat cushioned his fall. "Sorry. Again."

Zexion isn't looking at him. "There is no reason apologize this time. You cannot control whether or not you lose your balance on a ladder."

The bookworm stands and offers one of his hands. There is still no eye contact, so Roxas is left staring at eyes that refuse to look at him. Zexion, he realizes, has oddly-colored, amazing eyes.

Roxas takes Zexion's hand and is lifted to his feet, a few sore spots on his body protesting as he does so. "Thanks," he whispers, because Zexion didn't have to help him up like that, or even catch him in the first place. In fact, Roxas wonders: "Why did you save me, anyway?"

For a moment, Zexion actually connects and locks his gaze on Roxas's ocean blues. "Because," he says slowly, "I'm supposed to protect you."

And as Zexion leaves, his words still ring in Roxas's skull.

That night, Roxas is unable to get a wink of sleep. He turns and rolls and fidgets, trying to find a comfortable pose and peace of mind. What happened today felt too much like his reoccurring dream. He had been floating for a moment during his fall, and then Zexion's arms had been around him to catch him, and then, all too soon, Zexion had said something so extremely similar to what he had in Roxas's dream that now Roxas is unsure what to think. After all, Zexion's powers involve that of illusion; what if he somehow sent Roxas the dream on purpose? What if there is something greater going on that Roxas is left out of?

Baffled and wracked with insomnia, Roxas sighs and gets out of bed. He slips out of his room and ventures down the hall to some of the other rooms of The Castle That Never Was. He can see the beginnings of Kingdom Hearts from the windows, the large, moon-like heart hovering in the air, a halo of hope and the proof of accomplishment.

In the distance, Roxas can make out a few chords of Demyx's sitar; the hyperactive hydromaniac almost always has insomnia, and opts to play his instrument when he can't sleep. Roxas is about to join the other blond and perhaps chat for a while when movement catches the corner of Roxas's eye.

He turns and spots someone watching him from the dimly lit adjacent doorway in the hall. He squints, trying to make out the figure, but the figure vanishes behind the door as soon as it realizes that it's noticed. Curious, Roxas wanders towards the door and discovers that it's Zexion's bedroom. He knocks softly on the wood.

Zexion slowly opens the door, and something in his eyes looks like a raccoon when it's caught red-handed in the act of ransacking someone's garbage. For some reason, this analogy makes Roxas smile. "Hey, Zexion. You can't sleep either, huh?"

And that's all it takes. Zexion opens the door and permits Zexion inside, and soon the two of them are wrapped in a floating, practically tangible silence that neither can break. Their mouths are too busy acting on their own account, and completely ignoring the need for words or the commands from their brains.

Roxas isn't sure how they got to this point (who closed the distance between their lips? Who started liking who first? Why is this happening?), but he also isn't complaining. He hums in approval as his tongue is accepted into Zexion's mouth, and everything in there is lovely: slick-feeling, warm all over, and delicious-tasting.

The two fall backwards onto Zexion's bed, the blond of the two pinning the other down. There is a secret longing between them, an unknown, hidden lust that neither bothered to acknowledge until now. And Roxas is getting drunk off of that intoxicating longing, and he can tell by the free-flowing way Zexion is moving that the silvery-blue haired Organization member is also growing heady from the sensation.

The Keyblade wielder finally understands his dreams. The floating, the sense of loss, the safety, the promise. He understands it all, and he sucks it up like a sponge, absorbing all that he can. He then wrings himself out and uses it in this moment, a moment of triumph in understanding and possession. Because, finally, Roxas can possess what his dreams had been trying to give him all along: a reason to stick around, to fight, to _be._


	7. Illusion::

**A/N: This is a really short one, sorry. But it has a heavily implied lemon in it, so that kind of makes up for it, I think. LOL. But part of the reason for its shortness is due to the fact that I recently complete the very last oneshot of this series, 'Spooked.' I did it ahead of time because I had a lot of ideas for it. 'Spooked' is actually something I know would have done better as a multi-chaptered story, but I know that I would have never completed it because I get so busy; therefore, when I post it, you will find that 'Spooked' is more or less a condensed version of a longer story. XD**

**Anyway, enjoy this one. 'Dark Diamond' is next, and I must say, I have no idea what that one is going to be like, so you readers and I are both going to have to look forward to that one to see what I end up doing for it. ;P**

**

* * *

**

_.:Illusion:._

There are times when Zexion hates himself. He gets swallowed up in the non-emotions of self-pity and disgust. He is a Nobody, therefore he has no heart to feel with, and he knows this all too well, and yet this doesn't stop him from occasionally caving in to his nonexistent feelings.

When he gets like this, he isn't entirely sure what to do. Sometimes he tries to read or write or talk Saïx into giving him a mindless mission in order to distract himself from things he know shouldn't be, like emotion.

But there are times when he can't help himself. He gives in to his urges, and he might shed a few tears, or verbally abuse himself, or pick fights with someone he knows will demean him. The acts are even more revolting than his self-pity, and afterwards he feels shameful and foolish for having done them.

And it gets worse. There are other moments when Zexion has other emotions he gets caught up in feeling, and yet _not_ feeling them all the same. It is like a double-edge sword, being a Nobody: you are told that you are nothing but a shell of a former, more complete being, and yet because you remember in some manner or another of being that creature, you start behaving like that former self and pretend to have emotion.

But _is_ it all pretend? _Are_ their emotions only an illusion? Zexion isn't sure, and his uncertainty bothers him because even _the uncertainty itself_ can be considered an emotion, so how can he know for sure what it true and what is false?

The illusion of feeling grows even more insane during the moments when his feelings are the opposite of self-loathing: when he thinks he's in love with someone.

Love is complex, and can even be difficult for Somebodies. Or Nobodies, love is said to be a lie, and lust as well. But who's to say that an emotion as shallow as lust-pretending-to-be-love like teenagers with raging hormones isn't a shallow enough emotion that even Nobodies can feel?

Zexion thinks (hopes) that at least this might be true, because he can't get a certain member of the Organization out of his mind. Thus, he thinks (knows) that this endless chain of thoughts about this person must be either love or lust or both, because some of these thoughts involve physical contact of all kinds, which is not something you generally think about when you don't have love or lust for someone. Or, in Zexion's case, for _no one_.

He attempts to hold back these feelings, but there are times when he can't help himself. He caves in to his desires, and finds himself pinning the young, slightly shorter, blond Organization XIII member against a wall or pulling him into a secluded room nearby and forcing himself on him, but the blond never seems to mind.

"Roxas," he breathes on the blond's mouth, and little Thirteen doesn't always know how to respond, so he merely allows Zexion to consume him.

More than once, Zexion has shed their black boots and cloaks and gloves and everything else until they are down to their bare bodies, skin over skin and non-heart over non-heart, breathing simultaneously and caressing the entire time, even as Zexion is kissing Roxas to distract him while he slips a finger or two into the younger male's entrance to prepare him. He swallows Roxas's moans and groans of pleasure and pain, and finally, finally gives in to this lust-or-love by diving inside.

But always, always before Zexion can say or do something meaningful, Roxas evaporates and Zexion is left alone. Always, always alone.

Because the entire scene had been nothing but an illusion, something Zexion created himself with his special powers. He has rarely even spoken to Roxas, and he has _never_ laid a finger on the boy. Only in his fantasies-made-real has he done anything, and sometimes he forgets what actually happened and what he made happen himself in the seclusion of his bedroom, and he almost – _almost – _walks up to Roxas and makes a remark, but he yanks himself backward at the last second, remembering that it is all his own doing, and that Roxas does not harbor the same non-feelings of love and lust like the Roxas of his illusions does.

And because of all of this, there are times when Zexion truly hates himself.


	8. Dark Diamond::

_.:Dark Diamond:._

Axel and Demyx were best friends. They were two vibrant opposites that were forced together by fate in the third grade, and ever since then, they haven't let the other go, even through those awkward middle school years, those distressing high school years, and all the way through those untying college years. Now here Demyx and Axel are, twenty-five and twenty-seven years old respectively, and they are still friends.

(And in case you, the reader, are wondering why it is Axel was in third grade with Demyx when he is clearly two years older… well… Axel had started kindergarten late due to his August birthday, and was held back a year when he skipped twenty too many days in second grade and had to do it over.)

It's a miracle that they remained friends for so long, really; Axel being outrageously outgoing while Demyx is scared and a little shy, Axel being obsessed with setting things on fire whereas Demyx preferred to swim, and Axel hated playing instruments whereas Demyx loved to play them, and so on and so forth. They disagreed on just about everything they liked and hated, but they did have one thing in common:

In third grade, some middle school bullies accused both of them of being homosexuals, and as it turned out, the bullies weren't wrong.

Thus, the two became friends since they only found solace in each other for all of the homophobia being directed at them by their community.

Well, that, and they both like a lot of the same video games. And to children, simple things like that are all that matter in forming a friendship. It's compassion and understanding later on which cement the bond, and the two have that, despite Axel's otherwise flippant attitude toward the human race (he disregarded all rules and played by his own game, unlike Demyx who followed orders as instructed, even if he didn't feel like he was suited for the job).

As it happened, they both ended up getting a new boyfriend around the same time the other did, and so they decided to plan out a double-date after about a week of dating their significant others. 'Because,' they reasoned, 'if my best friend doesn't like who I'm dating, then I shouldn't date said person.'

And so this was how the date went:

They met at a bar, because wild, post-college bachelors often chose to go out drinking together and played pool and other nonsense at said bars for fun. So they met up there, each with his boyfriend in tow.

(And no, Reader, the pairs _did not _go to a gay bar; your mind surely thought this to some extent, and it needed to be corrected.)

Axel and his boyfriend arrived first. They say down in one of the booths and ordered some mozzarella sticks and starter drinks from the barmaid who was making the rounds of her shift. She was bitchy and blonde with sharp green eyes, and her nametag read, 'Larxene.' She flirted with Axel like a slut would, her small breasts with large cleavage and low jeans with a high thong speaking for her more than her tone.

But, naturally, Axel's boyfriend made a show of gripping Axel's hand with laced fingers and leaning up against his side, making Axel grin broadly from ear to ear, in order to make the barmaid stop her sexual harassment. It worked, of course. Larxene backed off immediately, but not without a sneer and a homophobic remark as she walked away.

Demyx showed, and Axel waved him over to his booth. Demyx half-danced to the music playing on the jukebox and half-walked at his usual hyperactive speed to the booth.

"Hey Axel!" he says as he plunked down into the seat across his best friend, and he dragged his date down with him. "Oh, is this the guy I've been hearing so much about? He's adorable! But he looks a little young for you… Are you sure he's, y'know, _legal_?"

"I'm twenty, thank you," the young man sitting next to Axel remarked. He wasn't looking at the two new additions to the group, but instead was looking at the drink menu. "I'm just short. Too much coffee as a kid, I suppose; it stunted my growth." It was meant to be a joke, but only Axel caught the dry humor and laughed.

(Actually, Demyx's date also caught the humor, but he didn't laugh; he merely smiled minutely under the mask of his hair.)

"So," Axel said, "This is Zexion. You're right; he is a cutie under all that hair." Axel grinned and offered his hand diagonally across the table to shake. "The name's Axel. Commit it to your memory, 'cause as long as you're with Demyx, I'll be around, too."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," the shorter male replied lowly. He didn't shake hands.

Axel's fingers curled into a fist and he retracted his hand with a click of his tongue. "Okay then…" He mouthed, 'rude much?' to Demyx, who giggled.

Demyx turned to Axel's date. "I'm Demyx."

"Hi Demyx," the young blond answered. He barely glanced up at the guitar player.

Demyx pouted at the lack of reaction, but he continued to formally introduce the young man beside him. "And this is Zexion, my angsty, slightly anti-social boyfriend," he said with a smile.

"Funny, because this is Roxas, _my own_ angsty, slightly anti-social boyfriend. Heh, heh; it seems we always go for the emo-kids, eh, Dem-Dem?" Axel chuckled.

Roxas and Zexion move and the exact same time to lock eyes with one another, mainly to see why they were considered so similar to one another according to their current boyfriends. But the second that they connected their gazes, they could feel something shift and click in the air between them like a pair of magnets moving in to attach themselves to one another.

Roxas stared at Zexion. "Hi," he murmured, and he didn't lose eye contact as he brought out one of his hands and left it halfway across the table.

"I'm pleased to meet you," Zexion replied, and it was different in tone than his automatic response to Axel moments ago. He actually took Roxas's proffered hand as opposed to ignoring Axel's, and when he shook hands with the spiky-haired blond, Zexion could feel electricity dart from fingertip to fingertip before shooting up his spine, leaving behind a tingling sensation.

As their fingers slid past one another while they released their handhold, Roxas could feel the same electric sparks dancing through his veins. He shivered slightly and couldn't stop the slight blush from forming on his cheeks. He automatically wished that he had met Zexion before Axel; that way, he didn't have to worry about breaking the redhead's heart.

Because, just then, he and Zexion were bonded together in a way people who claim love at first sight are often bonded together. And Zexion knew this just as well as the shorter blond directly opposite from him.

The night progressed achingly slow after that. Roxas watched Axel have drink after drink until the redhead consumed enough alcohol to kill a horse, and even then he was merely buzzed. He knew how to hold his liquor. Demyx, on the other hand, was drunk after halfway through his fourth drink, and acted funny and tipsy for the remainder of the evening.

When the four finally decided to go home around midnight, Roxas and Zexion slipped away by themselves and visited a bench by one of the rivers near that bar that ran all the way through their town.

They chatted for over an hour back and forth by playing Twenty Questions About Yourself. In the end, when it was nearing half past two, Roxas yawned sleepily and noted that Zexion was entirely sober, despite the fact that he had had three drinks.

"I drank them sparingly and had food with them, so I barely got buzzed. By now, I'm perfectly sober."

Roxas laughed thickly. "I'm not. I can feel the fuzziness around the edges of everything, like cotton softening the sounds of gunfire. I'm going to have a headache in the morning, but luckily nothing much worse than that."

Zexion was quiet for a little while, and began wondering if he should go home. But then Roxas said something that made Zexion decide against going home so soon.

"You know what, Zexion? You remind me of a dark diamond: flawed, rare, and only in the raw, and yet more beautiful that any other gem out there. It's sad, really; I think I like you more after a few hours being spent with you than I do Axel, whom I've spent over a week with. Is that wrong? Does that make me a manwhore or something?"

Zexion was a little speechless over the compliment, but he was able to find his tongue and force a fraction of use out of it. He told the blond as he grasped the other's hand, "It's not wrong. What's wrong is that we have met one another while dating other people, but that can be easily fixed. And no, you're not a manwhore; you only would be if you slept with me tonight."

Roxas smiled lazily. He said seductively as he leaned over, "And what if I did? What if I brought you back to my apartment tonight and curled up against you and fell asleep?" he laughed, because he knew Zexion knew he was kidding, using the literal sense of Zexion's word choice instead of what the older boy actually meant. "I don't mean that, though. I'm not that kind of person; hell, I haven't even slept with Axel yet, and most of the guys I know screw the people they're dating after a couple days! So yeah, I guess you're right: I'm not a manwhore. But… I would rather be dating you," he added this last part a little sheepishly, a flush covering his face again.

The silvery-blue man made a rare smile and leaned over to murmur into Roxas's ear, "Then let's date. We have only been dating those two for a short amount of time; no one is in love with anyone yet. So let's dump them and without telling them, we can start dating one another."

The younger male grinned brightly. "You got yourself a deal, Zexion; my little dark diamond in the rough."

And they lived happily ever after. Or something like that.

(Oh, and _no_, Reader, Axel and Demyx didn't mind. Axel sensed it the second that Zexion shook Roxas's hand since the silveret didn't shake his, and Demyx is too much of a happy-go-lucky people-pleaser to judge. In the end, Axel and Demyx realized that the only people right for them were each other, and they ended up living together and happily fornicating on a regular basis until they were old and bored of each other.)

And that is truly the end of this story.


	9. Underlying::

**A/N: Warning, there is some OOC-ness and attempted rape in this chapter. D:**

**Poor Zexion.  
**

* * *

_.:Underlying:._

I retain my mask of indifference as I scoop my scattered belongings into my arms. This happens almost every day at some point; one of the four bullying seniors come by the sophomore hallway and torment me in some way or another, usually choosing to knock my books out of my hands, tear my black-rimmed glasses off my face, or call me names. And I tolerate it, sucking it up and moving on each time it happens.

I tolerate it because I have to, because there's no way to fight back; if I fight back, I'll get in trouble and tarnish my record, and my parents will punish me.

But I'm getting tired of sucking it up. I'm getting worn out from all of the abuse, of the slapping and punching and kicking and pushing and name-calling and pranking. If this keeps up for much longer, I might have to defend myself. If this keeps up, I might have to risk getting caught in order to win my freedom.

I pause in the hallway, debating with myself if whether or not I should go to my locker. I'm afraid of what they've done to it; for all I know, they've keyed a phrase into its surface, or broken into it and decorated it with something unpleasant. The bullies from my previous school had done so, so I wonder if these bullies are the same.

Because I haven't always attended Heartless High; as a freshman, I attended Unversed High, a high school for gifted students. But even gifted students have bullies at their schools, because academically gifted students have egotistical issues.

I decide to skip my locker today; I don't need to get anything from it, and besides, I'm not emotionally prepared to see any ruin yet.

Walking down the hallway, I pass a boy laughing with some of his friends. His friends are in my history class; Hayner, Pence, Olette. They are three very intelligent individuals, despite their appearances. Hayner, a blond boy with a wannabe attitude problem, puts his arm around the laughing boy's shoulder, and I find myself sighing while looking away.

I've only ever had one friend. At my old school, Lexaeus – a tall, burly boy who was two years older than me – stepped in one day and ceased the bullying being inflicted on me. He became my closest friend ever since, and all because he protected me.

I long for friendship, or any relationship. I get terribly lonely, but I never show it. To others, I seem to prefer my alone-ness, but it's not how I truly feel. The truth is, I want somebody to stand by me. And not just to protect me as Lex had, but to _care _about what happens to me. To actually have care directed towards me is all I ask for.

Because being an orphan in a foster home usually means that the person doesn't receive much care. This is also true for me.

I sigh again and walk into my next class. Today is going to be a long, long day. I can tell.

0o0

"Hey emo-faggot, where you goin'?" Larxene smirks as she walks up to me and puts her arms around my shoulder like we were friends. We're not; it's her way of making me feel uncomfortable, and I daresay it's working. "I thought Marly and I told you that today is Fish Friday, didn't we? And that you were going to grow a backbone and face us today to be fished?"

"I don't recall –"

"Well," Larxene purrs as she leans next to my ear, her clothes reeking of marijuana and tobacco. "I supposed we'll just have to refresh your memory, then."

She lifts her head and nods to her accomplice Marluxia, her green eyes as cold and sharp as blades of frozen grass. His periwinkle blue eyes sparkle in return. He comes up to me, his pink hair much more flamboyantly gay than they deem me to be, and he takes my chin in one hand while slapping me across the face with the other.

I see red for a moment. I let out a low growl, and my fists clench.

"Dear me," another voice says, and I can tell by its low, dark tone that it's Saïx. He peers down into my face. "Have you forgotten who is boss around here? You're not allowed to get angry, Puppet-boy; you have to obey our strings on you, else we might have to chop you up into firewood."

I spit at his feet, and he grins wickedly.

"Have it your way," he says smoothly. He balls up his fist and before his knuckles connect with my cheekbone, I know that I'm going to have a black eye. But at least he's aiming for the eye that's covered by my elongated silvery-blue bangs.

Searing pain shoots throughout my skull, stabbing my brain and eye with fiery power. My cheek feels raw and my eye starts to swell, and I can't help wondering, 'why me? Why are they choosing to pick on solely me?'

Then they proceed to toss me over the edge of the school dumpster into the trash.

0o0

My foster parents don't notice my black eye, or the fact that I have ice held up to it. They don't even care, really.

I had to spend the equivalency of three usual showers in order to scrub away the scent of garbage from my body. Luckily for me, no one in my foster family is home before I am, so I was able to take this time without complain nor punishment.

But I hate it. I hate that I have to keep hiding the abuse; why can't I have at least one person on my side? I tried telling my school counselor – isn't that what they're there for? – but he told me to take it to the assistant principal. I told them; the most they did was give Larxene, Marluxia, Saïx and Xemnas detention for a week. They were right back at me tenfold, calling me a cowardice, tattle-tale faggot. It's always 'faggot' with them; nearly every insult they give me includes the word. And it's all because they think I'm emo. And to them, it seems, all emo kinds are homosexual.

Now, the fact that I secretly_ am_ gay has nothing to do with them having the right to taunt me as such. They _don't _have any right, and some day, I'm going to strike back and show them that they don't.

Someday.

As for today… well, I'm just trying to work on making my eye beneath my bangs appear slightly less grotesque.

0o0

It goes on for another month with the usual bullying before something more drastic occurs.

I took it all in stride, barely giving them the satisfaction of a verbal retort or watering eyes, and it seems they can't stand that; they can't stand the lack of response I repeatedly give them.

So, Marluxia comes up with an idea.

Larxene pins me against a wall one day as I'm taking a shortcut through an alleyway, hoping to avoid them on my way home. No such luck; they expected it, and were waiting for me, all four of them.

"How're you doing today, Angsty Zexy? Been having a good day, I hope? We haven't bothered you get today," the blond senior says with false affection. I swallow inaudibly and simply stare into her eyes, my glare speaking more than my words.

"He doesn't look too happy. Maybe we should cheer him up," Marluxia puts in. "What d'ya think, Xemnas? Should we treat him to one of his favorite things?"

I frown at them. Just what are they planning?

"Oh, you should indeed," Xemnas agrees.

"I concur," Saïx adds, "Give the little homo emo your gift, Marluxia. Maybe then we'll finally get something out of him; a thank you, perhaps?"

Larxene snickers and shoves me down onto the ground. Saix scoops me up again and tosses me onto the side of an abandoned desk; people often leave unwanted furniture in alleyways and vacant lots, so the desk is no surprise to me, but my reason for being thrown stomach-first over it is puzzling…

…For all of two seconds. Within the next second, my jeans are being unfastened and someone (my guess is Marluxia) is spreading my legs while attempting to remove my pants.

They're going to rape me, I realize with a sinking, icy feeling coursing down my spine and settling in my stomach. I feel my eyes water, but I blink back the tears and bite my tongue to wake myself up. I start thrashing around, because _there's no way in hell _I'm letting them go this far in their torment; there's no way I'm going to be a rape victim.

But they're too strong. Xemnas and Saïx take turns pushing, kicking, and punching me back onto the desk, Larxene laughing manically at the spectacle while Marluxia wrestles with me to force me into submission. Without realizing it, I start to cry as I yell over and over for help.

"Shut up, you stupid bitch," Marluxia hisses as he leans over me and roughly grips my bottom, "I thought you liked taking it up the ass? So shut up and take it, or we'll have to play even dirtier with you; _understand_?"

But I don't shut up. I continue to scream, even as Xemnas muffles my yelling with his sock and ties something around my mouth like a gag, and even as Saïx kicks the back of my knees to force me to bend over, I continue to holler. I'm not very loud, but I hope that is some passerby hears me, maybe they'll at least call the police, if not stop this rape attempt themselves –

And then, miraculously, before Marluxia can enter me (without preparation or protection), there is a new voice that sounds from behind the gang.

"_Leave him alone_!" the voice barks furiously. I can feel their seething anger from a distance; whoever this is, they have a very strong will and a hate of injustice. I automatically feel like I owe this person my life.

The person, kept out of view from me, storms into the group. They are laughing; they think this rescue is funny.

Marluxia zips up his pants and leans back against my naked lower half to hide me from view. "Who are you referring to? They're only us, and we're just hanging out," Marluxia says, his voice clearly marking the grin that must be on his face.

In front of me, Saïx makes a 'shh' motion with his fingers to his lips, then proceeds to walk behind me and out of view. "Don't waste your time here, Roxas; this is none of your business."

Roxas? Why is that name so familiar?

I have no time to guess, because soon I hear a loud grunt of impact and then a thump on the concrete.

"I said," the voice growls, "_Leave him alone._ I don't want to play games with you fuckers; just back away from him and get as far away from here as you possibly can, because I've already called the cops."

"You're bluffing," Xemnas says, calling Roxas on his statement.

"You think so?" the mysterious Roxas retorts. I hear the flip of a cell phone. "Then why does my 'recently made calls' list have 911 displayed at the top?"

I can feel the demeanor shift as the group of four becomes slightly nervous.

"And what did you tell the emergency hotline? Because there's nothing going on, so it better not have been a bullshit claim," Xemnas says smoothly, but I can sense his fear.

Roxas turns – I can hear the pivot of his shoes and the air around him move – and then there is another whacking sound followed by another collision with the ground.

Is this guy single-handedly knocking out members of the group?

"Who's next?" Roxas demands, "Because if you don't stop playing games with me, I won't hesitate to kick even a woman's ass, Larxene."

Larxene backs off. I can see her start to walk backwards, moving next to me and then in front of me. Her expression is an odd smile, as if she were trying not to have a nervous breakdown.

"Move away from him, Marluxia," Roxas spits out, and takes a step forward. I can feel Marluxia shaking; with rebellion or fear, I don't know, because I can't see his face.

But his voice tells me that it's rebellion. The pink-hired senior snarls, "Unlike the others, I'm no pushover. If I want to teach this kid a lesson, I will. So fuck off, Blondie."

And then it's all over. I feel a whoosh of air, I hear a three-minute battle between two bodies, and within moments, my pants are where they belong and Roxas – whom I can finally get a good look at – is removing my gag. I realize that I'm trembling, and Roxas reaches out and takes my hands in his to still them.

"Are you all right now?" he asks gently. It's amazing to think that this same voice was so fierce only seconds ago.

I can't control myself. I can feel tears brimming in my eyes again, and before I can think twice about the action, I launch myself at Roxas and wrap my arms around his neck. "You… you just stopped them from raping me…" I say brokenly. "Thank you." The last two words come out as a whisper.

Surprisingly, Roxas gives me a small hug in return, his arm sliding around the middle of my back. "I couldn't walk by and ignore your muffled cries, Zexion."

I pull away and stare at him. "You know my name?"

He smiles weakly and helps me stand up. I lean on him slightly; my left leg is heavily bruised, and the muscles scream in pain every time I stretch them out fully, so I opt to limp, using Roxas as a crutch. "Yeah, I know your name. You're in my psychology class."

"I am?" I say dizzily. The whole experience has my head reeling. I shuffle through blurry school days over the past month or so to try and picture his face in my psychology class of roughly twenty students.

But all I can remember is seeing him in the hallways with Hayner, pence, and Olette, handsome and laughing.

Next to me, Roxas nods. He glances down the street. "My apartment is right over there. My mom can help you; she's a nurse."

"I'm not hurt –" I protest, but Roxas cocks an eyebrow and uses the free hand that's not supporting me to poke my ribs. I groan in pain involuntarily.

"That's what I thought. You took quite the beating resisting them, didn't you?"

Numbly, I nod my head. The world looks fuzzy without my glasses; somewhere in the struggle, I think they got broken. They are probably laying on the floor of the alley in a heap of round, black plastic and shimmering broken glass.

"I'm glad that you actually fought back. I've seen them walk away, and you always did nothing. And I felt bad, because I was always too late to help you. But this time, everything was different, huh?"

I nod again, feeling especially quiet. Roxas cares this much about me? I never knew. Why didn't he ever say anything? I would have liked having a friend better than a one-time savior. Unless this turns into a Lex-case where we become friends after this…

Roxas makes a face. "Mm. I bet you're wondering why I never talked to you before, when I had the opportunity to. Well, to be honest, I wasn't sure if you'd let me. I'm normally pretty shy – Hayner and his friends came to me first, you know; I used to be a loner, too – and you always looked so… unapproachable. But. Um. Well, you're not. I mean, you kinda proved that when you…"

'Hugged me,' he was about to say. It's written all over his face.

I clear my throat and change the subject. "Did Xemnas call you out on a bluff, or did you actually phone the police?"

Roxas chuckles. "I wasn't bluffing. The second I heard you and saw them huddle around you, I phoned the cops and reported a rape attempt. I gave them all four of their full names. Hopefully, they get them for _something._ Hell, maybe we'll get to testify against them in court for attempted rape and assault or battery; that would be awesome! I'd love to see them behind bars," he grins, and there's something dark in his eyes.

"Roxas… isn't that a little cold-hearted?" I say meekly.

He frowns at me. "You're defending your attackers?"

I shake my head vigorously. We approach a door, and enter an apartment building at the same time. While hiking to the stairs, I clarify. "I'm not defending them. They deserve it, if anything. It's just surprising to hear you speak that way about classmates from our school."

He shrugs. "They're royal douchebags that need to get their just deserts. I'm just saying what I think."

I guess he's right. But I didn't know that some people were so vengeful, and so hateful of Larxene, Marluxia, Saïx and Xemnas. But he has every reason to be, considering. I hate them, but I also fear them, and fear usually wins out over my hate.

Roxas sighs and stops in front of a minty-green apartment door. He takes a key out of his pocket and unlocks the door. "At any rate," he says warmly, "You don't need to worry about them anymore. From now on, I'm sticking by you. I promise to protect you, Zexion."

I think my heart forgot to beat for a moment. I inhale deeply to get it started again. "Thank you," I say in a hushed tone. "I really appreciate that."

He nudges me gently in the arm. "You need to stop being so quiet, Zexion. I know you've got more in you than you let on; there are plenty of things lying beneath the surface. Am I right?"

He is. There is a lot of underlying emotions, underlying thoughts, and underlying wishes and hopes and desires buried within me. And 'm beginning to wonder if Roxas is someone I can share those underlying expressions with.

"Mom, I'm home! And I have someone with me," the blond beside me says. His mother comes rushing into the room in a flurry.

"I'm almost late for work, sweetie, so I'll talk to you later –" but she cuts herself off when she sees me. Her face falls into that of compassion. "Oh, you poor, poor baby. What happened to you?" She kneels down and touches my face kindly. I flush; no adult, female or not, has ever acted so kind to me. She turns to her son. "Work can wait. Let's get your friend fixed up. Come with me to the bathroom, dear; all of my medical supplies are in there."

"Thanks for this, Mom. I know that you're probably going to get in trouble, but…"

And then he explains how I was nearly raped, and she turns pink with a flurry of emotions. She scowls. "I can't believe that! Did you call the police, Roxas?"

He nods fiercely. "Straight away."

She nods as well. "Good." She takes me into her arms, which is bizarre considering the fact that she's a stranger, but I welcome the affection. I hear her soft, lovely voice say in my ear, "Don't worry, dear, we're going to help you. They won't be bothering you any longer."

"That's what I told him," Roxas says almost proudly. "Mom, can he stay here for a while? I don't think he's cared for at home."

I stare at them with bewildered eyes. They're going to let me live here? Technically, they have every authority to, since I'm not adopted; I'm only being fostered. If they register as a foster-care family and I request them to my social worker, I could get them as a host family. I jump at the chance to be somewhere where I won't be ignored.

I explain this process to them, and Roxas's mother automatically agrees to it. She briefly tells me about herself; she's a single, working mother, and she says I should call her by her first name, Tifa. She's caring but strong, and I like her already.

And that's how it all begins. That's how I officially meet Roxas, how I come into his home life, and how, eventually, I fall in love with him.

It all seems so impossible, but as it progresses, it feels so right.


	10. Spooked::

**A/N: LOL, so here's that condensed-version-of-a-wannabe-multichapter-story that I mentioned in an earlier chapter. By far, this is my favorite and (longest) Roxion oneshot out of all of the ones i've posted in this story, so enjoy it~!**

**P.S. there is some light smut at the end of this one. XD  
**

* * *

_.:Spooked:._

I sit in my bedroom and attempt to access what radians are and how they apply to circles and how to use them in the math homework I was given today. I chew on my pencil and tap my foot on the floor. Part of the side of my bed is digging into my back, but I ignore it as I continue to lean against the side of my mattress. I blow air out of my mouth in frustration.

I really hate math homework.

"Roxas!" my mother howls from one of the other rooms in the house. "The phone's ringing, and it's for you! Can't you hear it?"

No, I can't. I have my stereo turned up so that I can tune out everyone else. "I'm getting it!" I holler back, and I throw open my door and reach for the phone in the hallway. I click the 'talk' button, but it's too late; whoever was calling hung up already. I check the caller ID: Axel. He always bothers me. I swear, that guy calls me every single day. We're best friends and all, but sometimes I get a little annoyed with him, because Axel also hits on me every day. He has a thing for me, but I constantly remind him that we're only friends.

Purposely choosing not to call the redhead back, I shuffle back into my room.

But as I mindlessly close the door behind me, I look up and grow still. There's somebody I don't know lying on my bed.

He's transparent and dressed in solid white: white socks, white skinny jeans, a white studded belt, and a white long-sleeved shirt. He has silvery-blue hair that's almost purple, and his eyes are a steely cobalt. He's in a casual pose, his hands folded under his head and his legs crossed at the ankles. He seems completely out of place.

I blink in shock, and he glances casually at me. "Boo," he says sarcastically.

And then he vanishes into thin air, leaving only a chilly imprint on my bed where he had lain.

I shiver, and goosebumps dot my flesh. What the _fuck _just happened?

-X—x—X-

"Dude, Roxas… are you okay?" Axel asks as he waves a hand in front of my face. "You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

If only he knew how true that was.

Our other friend, Xion, joins us. She looks just as sleep-deprived as I do, with just as bruised bags under her eyes. "I couldn't sleep last night," she yawns, "I kept having nightmares."

"That's okay. Roxas seems to be in a similar boat. Aren't ya, Rox?" Axel teases, and he nudges me with his elbow.

Xion tilts her head, her short black hair falling into her eyes. She brushes it away with one hand as she asks: "Did you get some nightmares, too?"

I shake my head. "Worse than that," I reply lowly. "I… I saw a ghost."

Axel frowns, disbelieving, but Xion jumps at the remark. "A ghost! Ohmigod! That's so cool! Well… cool if it wasn't scary. That's pretty scary," she adds, but I can tell that she's just trying to conceal her excitement. She lives for the supernatural; she even dabbles in witchcraft; the simple, harmless, Wicken stuff, nothing major or Satanic. "What did it look like? Was it a black figure or white mist, or was it a full-bodied apparition?"

"Full-bodied," I reply, frowning slightly at the memory. It was so bizarre. "It was a guy about my age with flippy emo-hair that covered one of his eyes. He was dressed in white from head to toe."

"Wow," Xion says in awe, her expression dreamy. "He sounds sexy."

"…You're calling a ghost sexy?" Axel sputters with laughter. "Xion, my friend, I believe you just went up another rung on the Loopy Ladder, because that is not the statement of a sane person."

She giggles. "I don't care. I'm a sucker for ghosts, what can I say?" She yawns after saying this, some of her energy fading. "Oh shit. If I don't get a java fix soon, I think I'm going to crash. My teachers will be furious with me if I doze in class."

"Well, then before passing period ends, let's run across the street to Starbucks," I say to take my mind off of the whole ghost-thing. It works. Soon, Xion, Axel and I are cutting the first few minutes of our first-period class, and as the day progresses, I forget all about the random presence. Because maybe there hadn't been anyone there at all; maybe I imagined it because I was stressed out over my math homework.

At least, this is the excuse I give myself. Figments of the imagination are easier to deal with than fragments of someone who stayed behind after their death.

-X—x—X-

A week later, the ghost shows up again. I'm home alone minding my own business when he suddenly pops up on the stool next to me at the breakfast bar in my kitchen. I nearly choke on the ice cream I'm ingesting, a stolen treat I technically shouldn't be having.

"What the _hell?"_ I shout, my face growing pale. "It's you again!"

"A simple, 'Hello' would have sufficed," the ghost replies. His voice sounds completely normal, unlike the stereotyped moans and wails and echoes that movie-ghosts are given. If he weren't see-through, I would have forgotten that he was a ghost. But he is, and I am currently freaking out.

"H-Hello?" I stutter, "How is that sufficient? I'm being haunted!"

"Not haunted," the ghost replies with a shrug. "Just visited."

"Great, so now I suppose you're going to tell me that three more spirits are also going to 'visit' me tonight?" I say, a little happy with my quip. I find it clever, even if I feel scared shitless and realize that I could be going insane for talking to what could be thin air – how do I know that other people can see him?

He smiles, and it creeps me out; something tells me that he shouldn't be smiling. "No, Mr. Scrooge, you will not be visited by any other spirits. There's only me. But I'm not a ghost, I assure you."

"Then what _are_ you?" I say, puzzled beyond belief.

"I'm human," he answers as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

"You mean you _were _human," I murmur, still spooked. "You can't be human and be _transparent._"

"Oh, is that all?" he says. "That's your only reason for mistaking me for a spook?"

I grit my teeth. "Well, yeah. I mean, what else can you be?"

He tilts his head downward slightly, as if caught between shrugging and nodding. "I see your point," he admits. He looks up at me again, his eyes piercing. "But I'm not a ghost."

"Then can you tell me what you are, besides human?"

He grins again, his eyes sparkling. "Wouldn't you like to know?" He glances behind him, as if seeing or hearing something that caught his attention, and he turns back at me, saying hastily, "I have to leave now. But next time, I'll tell you. My name, by the way, is Zexion, not 'you.'"

And then he disappears.

-X—x—X-

I'm brushing my teeth, watching my blank expression in the mirror as I scrub away the acquired filth from the day. Spitting out foam and rinsing my mouth, I run my brush under the faucet before opening the mirror to store my toothbrush in a cup in the cabinet. When I close the mirrored door, about to turn off the sink, I notice a face beside mine that wasn't there a second ago.

"Eep!" I squeak, and whirl around to face Zexion. He looks amused by my reaction. "Damn you!" I curse as I turn the knob on the sink and face him fully. "Why must you keep doing that? This is the third time I nearly leapt out of my skin because of you randomly showing up."

"I apologize," Zexion says lightly. He gestures to my room behind us (I have my own bathroom). "Shall we talk somewhere comfortable?"

I shrug and eye him warily. "Sure, whatever."

He sits on my bed and pats the space beside him, but I opt to sit backwards in my desk chair, my arms resting on the top of the spine support piece. Zexion sighs, but doesn't hesitate to launch into his explanation.

"I'm not a ghost," he reminds me, "I'm just a human with a special ability. You know that phrase, 'have an out-of-body experience'? Well, I can have one of those whenever I like, so long as I close my eyes and focus on somewhere I want to be instead of where I am. I learned how to do it when I was growing up in an orphanage." He places his hand to his chin in thought. Today he's wearing fingerless black gloves, a plum long-sleeved shirt, and black skinny jeans being held onto his slim hips with a light grey studded belt. I like this outfit better than the first, because the white washed him out and made him appear very, very ghostly indeed. "I call it, 'releasing my soul,' because it feels like that: my soul disconnecting and leaving the prison that is my physical body."

I stare at him for a moment. If he had been someone I met in school or something, I would have thought he was crazy for saying this. He's describing some sort of… astral projection or something. I didn't think things like that were possible, but now I do. I'm seeing it in the flesh, with my own eyes, so it must be real.

…That, or I'm simply hallucinating. But I doubt it.

"So, then… how did you get here, in my house? Do you know where I live or something?" I pose, because this question has been bothering me since he first showed up. How did he find me, exactly? My desire to know has become somewhat of a necessity.

Zexion makes a face. "I can… sense where other people are. When I'm like this, I can go to a place from memory, or I can seek out a place based on someone I know who is located there. I figured this out when one of my friends from the orphanage moved away one year, and I wanted to see them again," he explains softly.

I digest this new piece of information. Then I dissect it. "Wait a second… so that means… you know me? But I don't know you, I only met you recently –"

Zexion looks embarrassed. He glances away and runs his hand through his hair, and for a moment, I get the full effect of seeing both his eyes at once, and I realize that he's a very attractive person. I guess Xion was right, even if she's never seen him.

"You might not know me, but I know you. We've met, but it wasn't something particularly memorable for you, I'm sure. But it was for me." He suddenly stiffens, and before I can ask a question, he says, "Dammit. Someone is touching my body to wake me up, since they think I've fallen asleep. We'll have to continue this later; I know you want an explanation from me. Goodbye for now, Roxas."

And then he's gone again, and this time I know for sure at least two things: one, that I'm going to have to shuffle through every memory I can to see how I know him, and two, that he must be telling the truth; I never told him my name, and yet he knew it.

I suppose I forgot to mention it, but there is also one other thing that I know for sure: I can't wait to see Zexion again, because there is so much more about him that I want to find out. I want to get to know him better.

-X—x—X-

I relay to Xion the details of Zexion's visits, and explain to her what he explained to me. Unlike Axel, she is actually interested and enjoys hearing my tale.

"Ohmigod, that is just too awesome! I was researching things like this in some of my occult books, and it makes sense: sometimes people who have traumatic lives or pasts – he was an orphan, you say? – can develop special abilities because a door in their mind opened up. Is he intelligent? If he is, then it could be a Matilda case where he is using so much of his brain that he can be like her in the sense that she can move objects with her mind and he can cross distances with his." Xion says, her tone bubbly as she rants about this topic. Apparently I hit a nerve, because she has never been this exited about anything before.

I smile and nod. "That makes sense to me. But I want to find out more about him. Like: how he became an orphan, how old he is – he's about as tall as me, but he looks a little older than me – and if anybody ever adopted him. Is he happy in his life? And how come he knows me? I really want to see him again to find these things out."

Xion tacks some hair behind one ear and giggles breathlessly. "So… you're interested in him, huh?" she teases. She knows that I'm gay, which is another reason why Axel tries so hard to date me. She loves watching Axel and I flirt together when the three of us go out to movie or something; she says that it's adorable. She doesn't mind it at all, even though she originally only became our friend because she had a crush on me. But when I let her down, she took it in stride and decided that it was best anyway because she'd rather have a friend than a boyfriend. Xion is very understanding, and I like that about her.

I blush and pull a face. "What? No! How can I? I barely know him!"

"You don't need to know somebody that much in order to be interested in him or her," she reminds me. And I sigh, because she's right; after all, she's speaking from experience, and I've seen a similar thing occur with other people.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. But I don't think it's a romantic interest, so don't get your hopes up," I say playfully.

"Not a romantic interest… _yet,_" she emphasizes, and I smack her lightly on the arm.

"Shut up, Xion!"

-X—x—X-

One night, I have a dream about Zexion.

It's inbetween two other dreams, one being a nightmare featuring a spooky monster chasing me down an alleyway at night, and the other being a peaceful dream about me as a blond cat catching fish in a stream. Both are strange like all dreams are, but the one with Zexion in the middle of these two dreams is the weirdest, because it does like this:

After the nightmare, I startle awake, my eyes flying open and my breathing nearly ceasing. I turn my head to the right, and see a figure in my bed with me. The figure sees that I'm awake and squeaks in surprise before fading into nothing. The figure had been Zexion's, and he had been lying on his side, watching me with loving eyes before he realized that I was watching him back.

It's a really weird dream, and not just because Zexion was in it or because it was a dream that involved waking up; it's weird because I know deep down that it wasn't a dream at all.

-X—x—X-

It's three weeks until I see Zexion again, his last visit (I refuse to think he was there that night I was dreaming so much) being the one in which he promised to explain himself the next time he came.

For a while, I was disappointed, but after a bit I figured that he must be busy and unable to get away. But then I start to get depressed, and then, like a beacon of light in a storm, Zexion pops up out of nowhere while I'm taking a shower.

One second I'm rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, the next I'm seeing Zexion's wide-eyed, shocked/embarrassed face, and the next I'm alone in the shower again. So much for Zexion's abilities; evidently, he doesn't know what's happening where I am, only that I'm _somewhere_ doing _something_. Evidently, he has no control over where he ends up, only that I'm going to be in the same vicinity.

When I'm out of the shower and dressed, my hair wet and a sickening wash of embarrassment from exposure still running through me, Zexion is waiting on my bed. He's waiting to talk some more, but now he's probably just trying not to be awkward. He posture says that much: his legs are together, his hands are squashed between his thighs in an ashamed pose, and his head is bowed slightly.

Somehow, I find this a little endearing. Shaking my head at myself, I say, "So, um… you said that we were going to finish our conversation when you next showed up?"

His head jerks upwards to look at me, and even though he is transparent, he looks solidly mortified. "Uh, yes. I was going to. And I apologize for –"

I wave it away immediately. "Don't worry about it, really. I mean, we have the same parts, right? So who cares? It's like showering after practice for an after-school sport. No big deal, right?"

"Perhaps not for you," Zexion murmurs almost inaudibly. "But… I'm, er, well… homosexual." He looks sheepish. "I'm sorry. You probably think I'm some creepy, gay stalker. I should go –"

I don't like that idea. I reach out towards him, as if to hold him back, and take a step forward. "No, wait!" I say, and he looks at me oddly. "Don't… leave. I mean, heh, you still have so much to tell me, right? So please, don't stress over it."

"You're not disgusted with me?" he says, his tone genuinely surprised, but only vaguely so. He still has difficulty showing emotion around me, it seems.

I laugh, partially out of nerves and partially because he seems so secretly sensitive, like me. I don't show it as much, and it seems he doesn't usually, either, because they expression he has in this very moment looks at though it feels foreign to him to be so open with somebody. It makes me wonder what makes me so special.

I inform him of a fact he's unaware of. "If I were disgusted with you, Zexion, I'd have to be disgusted with myself as well."

Realization dawns on him, and he looks relieved for a brief moment before his expression calms into nonchalance again. "You're also homosexual," he states. It isn't a question, just a clarification of my innuendo.

I grin. "Yep. So it's no big deal. Although now you owe me, because it's unfair that you saw me naked."

He flushes a rich pink and forces an odd, uncomfortable chuckle. "Yes. Well. Did you want me to explain myself further, or are we going to continue to talk about sexuality? Because, technically, I didn't come here for the latter."

I laugh, too. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry. Go ahead and tell me what it is you want to tell me, and then I'll see if I have any questions. Because my head has been buzzing with questions for a few weeks now."

"I'm sorry about that, too," he mutters under his breath as I come to sit next to him on the edge of my bed. "I had so much work to do, since winter finals at my college were this week. They're over now, but in the weeks preceding the tests I was doing last-minute papers and study sessions almost every time I had free time, and then I'd fall asleep. My part-time job got in the way a little bit as well."

I nod. "Oh, okay. I forgive you for leaving me hanging, then," I joke. I look him in the eye. There is a small moment of silence, and I search his eyes for answers. "Tell me, Zexion: when did we meet?"

He doesn't look at me. He looks at his hands as he enlightens me. "It was second semester of last year. You were a junior, so naturally you go around visiting colleges to see what catches your interest and suits your future plans. You ended up coming to _my _college in a group of about one hundred-or-so people. I was wandering the campus out of boredom, occasionally eyeing your group crossly because I dislike freshman and freshman-to-be. But then I saw you. It was easy to single you out, because you were someone who was unlike the rest: you had your mask of indifference on. I was curious about you. Why were you so unexcited, unlike your peers, whom were hemming and hawing over the college? However, things soon changed. While on the campus library portion of the tour, you got a phone call…"

I remember now. I remember all too vividly that trip, but I still can't see Zexion in it. I know, though, what he's about to say. Tears prickle at the back of my eyes, and I blink to restrain them. I wait for him to continue.

"…You fell away from the group, and though I couldn't hear what you were saying, I knew that it was not good news. It began like any other call – you looked happy, eager. But then your face fell while you talked, and then you became angry, and I knew that you must have been getting into a heated argument with whoever was on the phone.

"You went off on your own, totally alone. I tagged behind in the shadows, part of me empathetic and tempted to console you, a complete stranger, and the other part of me hanging back because of the fact that I didn't know you and had no right to bud into your affairs. But I had to do something when I saw you slipping into one of the bathrooms, because I knew what you were going to do. And I wasn't wrong."

Zexion finally turns his gaze to me, and I can feel the beginnings of familiarity budding up in my chest. I say breathlessly, "I was crying."

He nods. "Yes. I could hear you sobbing softly as soon as I entered the bathroom. You weren't even in one of the stalls – you were just sitting there on the dirty tile floor, your knees bunched up to your chest, your face in your hands. I hesitated, but I finally came over to you and touched you on the shoulder. You didn't look at me; you immediately told me to fuck off, and you called me Axel. When I told you that I wasn't him, you finally looked, but the expression of 'fuck off' didn't leave your face. You yelled at me, saying something I couldn't quite catch, but when I asked you what your name was and why you were crying, you shut up. You looked so pained that it hurt me to look at you. You said quietly, 'I'm Roxas. But it's nothing, alright? I just got dumped, that's all.' And you pushed past me and left the bathroom, your eyes still wet and red and your face still scrunched in fury and pain.

"I wanted to follow you, grab you and turn you around, forcing you to elaborate and perhaps release some of your pent-up emotions, but I knew that I shouldn't because we were strangers. You had every right to push me away."

He finishes with a rigid expression on his face, his eyes hollow. I think extremely hard, and it takes me a moment, but I finally match up the memory of someone in the bathroom with me with Zexion's voice and face. So he had been there; and I had pushed him away. I feel guilty about it all of a sudden, even if he's right about us being strangers and my refusal of his consolation.

Zexion's gaze connects with mine and he asks, "Did you love the person who dumped you?"

"Yeah… " I sigh pathetically. I rub the back of my neck tautly. There is another wave of that stinging sensation behind my eyes, but I don't want to cry in front of Zexion again. I blink them away for a second time. "He was my everything, at the time. He and I had been friends almost our entire lives, and in freshman year, I couldn't take it anymore; I wanted to be closer to him. At that point, I had liked him for over a year, and I could sense that he wouldn't mind trying to date me for a while since he didn't seem interested in girls very much. He liked this girl Kairi for a while, but it faded fast. So when it was gone, I stepped in. I told him that I liked him as more than a friend and wondered if he felt the same. He was a little reluctant, but he agreed. So we went out. But then, over the summer between our sophomore and junior years, he moved away to some island far away from here.

"We were doing a long-distance relationship the best we could, but I think I knew all along that he would end up cheating on me. I was just too in love with him to see it. He called me that day, and I playfully asked him how much he missed me. I didn't expect to get an honest answer."

I pause, because suddenly my throat is feeling extremely constricted and sore, like the raw, red feeling I get when I'm sick. Zexion lays his hand on my forearm, something I see more than I can feel, but I can still feel the slight, airy pressure. My arm is warmer where he touches me, and I lean an inch or two to my left towards him.

"He told me… how guilty he felt about cheating on me. He told me how… how he realized he never really li… liked me the way I l-liked him. He said that it was more of a… an overly-dependent friendship that he c-confused with romantic feelings. So he… he ended up dating and falling for this girl Naminé. A _girl._ So the thing with me was only ever… a way of keeping me happy, since he l-loves keeping people happy." I didn't cry, not yet, but my voice was thick and wavering as if I were. I had to pause a few times to hold back a hiccup or a sniffle from escaping.

"What was his name?" Zexion whispers calmly, his head tilting to look at my face, since my hair is covering most of it from the way I'm bowing.

"What does it matter that his name is?" I hiss, frustrated not at Zexion but at the entire situation. It still aches, despite being months and months ago. I'm a senior now, for Christ's sake. It shouldn't bother me this much!

"It matters because throughout your entire story, you purposely left out his name," the projection of Zexion says firmly.

I bite my bottom lip and then smooth it over with my tongue. "Sora," I say hoarsely, "His name was Sora."

He was the closest thing I had to a soul mate. Just like how my older cousin Ventus is the closest thing I have to a sibling. And how my step-dad is the closest thing I have to a real dad, since my biological father left my mom and me.

"Sora didn't know what he was leaving behind," Zexion says, and I can hear something tender in the backdrop of his tone. It makes my insides squirm pleasantly.

"Zexion –" I begin, most likely about to make a fool of myself, when Zexion abruptly stands.

"I hate it when this happens," he says. He looks at me, and there is something about the way he does so, and I don't know whether it's in his eyes, or from the shape of his lips, or even if it's by his stance, but it makes me think of the word '_doleful'._ "I have to go again."

And I smile at him just before he leaves, because I want him to know that I understand.

Except seconds after he vanishes, the tears I held back come pouring down my cheeks as steady as rainfall.

My room has never felt so empty and lonely.

-X—x—X-

Zexion won't get out of my head: his soulful voice, his unusually colored hair, his dark eyes, his compassion towards me, his lean physique… every last bit of him.

I feel nauseous, and I keep pushing Axel away because I don't ant him to touch me or flirt with me any longer. He gets pissy and starts avoiding me, but I don't care.

And that's when Xion calls me out on it. But as soon as she says it, I find myself wincing as if she'd struck me.

"You're lovesick," she says softly, kindly. She's beyond the teasing like before. She knows that it's serious this time. She gives me a half-hug, her arm wrapping around my shoulder. My wince fades. She questions, "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "No. I feel stupid enough already."

She laughs a little. "Yeah, I would too." She releases me and clasps her hands together in front of her. Stretching them and cracking her knuckles in the process, she stands up. "Know what will cheer you up? Your old love: Sea-Salt ice cream."

I send her a lopsided smile. "That sounds perfect. Thanks, Xion."

"That's what I'm here for," she replies with a wink. "I'm here to help you, Roxas. It's what friends do."

-X—x—X-

I putz around the house, looking for something to do. My mother senses my anxiety and starts suggesting things at random while she folds clothes.

"Why don't you go play a video game?"

"Nah," I reply lazily, "I don't feel like being stationary."

"Make something to eat?"

"Nah, I don't want to get fat."

"How about bake for fun?" she says with a slightly tired sigh.

"What am I, a girl? I might be gay, but I'm not _that_ flaming, thank you very much." I snort.

My mother throws a pair of my own underwear at my head. It flops onto my face and some of the fuzz gets in my mouth. Spitting, I yell a curt 'Hey!', and before I can say something like, 'What was that for?' my mother says to me: "Then go out and get a job or a boyfriend, because I'm not your source of entertainment."

"I think I'll just go for a walk," I mutter lamely. "It's nice outside."

Actually, it's dim and cloudy and threatening to rain, but it's at least warm. Warm enough that I don't need a jacket, anyhow.

My mother shrugs. "Alright, if you say so," she murmurs. She brushes back her brown hair, brings its low ponytail to the side, and splits it in two. I watch her do a twist and then tie it off with the pink scrunchie on her wrist. Her green eyes smile at me. "Just don't forget your cell. I want to be able to reach you, or come pick you up if it starts raining and you're too far away to walk home. I'd hate it if my poor baby got a cold."

"Okay," I answer, and I'm already getting my shoes on. "Thanks, Mom." I always figure out what to do – even if it's as silly and meaningless as this – when I talk to her.

"I'll see you later, Roxy." And then she goes back to her folding.

I love my mother; she can be tough when she wants to be, and she has those days when she's easily irritated (usually once a month for about a week, I noticed), but she's a great mom. And Zack, my step-dad, is a good match for her after my real dad, Cloud, left her for some woman at his job named Tifa. I don't hate him for it, but it still sucks, because my mother never did anything wrong. But who knows, maybe it was for the best.

Thinking about this as I head out the door, I fail to truly grasp the weather situation before it's too late. I should have gone back inside and skipped out on my walk, because once I'm a good ten blocks away from home and near a child's play park, the storm hits.

Thunder roars and lightning crashes, so loud and rapid and ear-splitting and blinding that I nearly fall over and wet my pants. I jump at each new bout, and then the rain starts whipping down at the ground and I as if we were the same essence, something that didn't matter to the sky above. I run and duck for cover under the little fort-type structure in the center of the park and bring the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. I fumble with slippery, cold hands to turn on my cell and click the speed dial for home. My lovely mother picks up on the first ring.

"I knew it'd be you. Where are you, dear?" she says, but the wind is picking up, so I only catch every other syllable.

"I'm at Mickey Park about ten blocks away," I half-yell into the receiver over the rain rushing in my ears as it bounces off of the plastic roof overhead.

"Okay, I'm coming to get you," she says, and I jump as thunder sounds again, furious and booming. I snap my ancient cell phone shut and dig my hands into my pockets while I wait for her.

Out of nowhere, I hear a voice behind me remark, "Well, this royally sucks."

I turn and find Zexion staring up at the sky, drops of rain falling straight through him as he stands just outside of the protection of the play set. He's dressed in the same blues and greys as the sky, and today he's wearing black eyeliner that matches his black fingernails. His hand is at his mouth again, as if he's contemplating whether or not to stay or to go.

I desperately want him to stay.

"Zexion," I say half out of surprise – he _did _startle me a moment ago – and half out of fondness. I'm happy to see him.

He looks at me and notes sarcastically, "Well, don't you look like you're ready for senior prom, all dressed up in holey jeans and soaked to the bone."

I laugh. I know he's trying to make light of the situation for my benefit. "Yeah, well. I like looking my best," is all I can think of to say.

"Aren't you going to look for a better mode of shelter?" he asks as he walks – I didn't know that souls could walk – towards me and stands next to me.

"What I'm waiting for is a mode of transportation," I explain. "My mom is coming to pick me up since I foolishly went out for a walk and didn't bother to check the weather beforehand."

Zexion smirks. "Stupid boy."

"I know I am," I sigh. My demeanor shifts. "But I'm glad that you're here to keep me company."

"What are friends for?" Zexion says, and it makes me think of two things at once: Xion, and the fact that Zexion is correct. Oddly enough, the two of us has become friends. But I don't want to be friends. I think Xion is correct, too; I think I _am_ lovesick. And all because of him, because he's interesting and unique and he was there for me when I needed him.

I nod at his remark, and then pose a request. "To waste time, can you tell me a little bit about your years at the orphanage? Like, how you got there, if you ever got adopted, and whether or not it was a bad experience for you."

Zexion's face turns grim. "I was sent to the orphanage when I was six. My parents were killed. They were being mugged, and the mugging went too far; the mugger stabbed them both to wound them and take their belongings, but they ended up bleeding to death because they were stabbed in the gut, and no one found them in time." I've never seen his face so deadpan and scared. "It wasn't as good as my previous lie, but the orphanage wasn't a bad way to live, either. I made some friends, and when I was eleven, a science professor at the college I'm going to now adopted me. His name is Ansem, and he's a very intelligent man. He taught me everything I know, and buys books for me whenever I want because he makes a lot of money from his job and his own books. He writes things about the human heart; metaphors, illnesses; you name it, he's researched and written about it. He's even helped design a few machines that fix weak or damages hearts."

His entire tone shifted, and his face brightened a little when he started talking about his adopted father. He must really admire him. I smile. "Well, that's good. I'm glad that things worked out later on, even if they started off gruesome."

He nods. "I agree." His eyes pan over to a car that's pulling up into a parking space. "I'll be back in about twenty minutes, when you're alone again," he informs me, and then he's gone just as my mother is hopping out of the car and walking over to me with an umbrella.

"That's strange," she observes, "I thought I saw another boy with you when I initially parked the car. Hmm, it must have been my imagination," she shrugs. She holds the blue umbrella out towards me. "Quickly now, Love; can't let you catch a cold! Or a flu; that would be awful."

I chuckle. "It would be." And I follow her to the car, and during the drive home we chat idly about overplayed songs on the radio, and all I can think about is something I really want to ask of Zexion when I see him. I just hope that he'll comply.

-X—x—X-

I pace my room, the wind really having at it against the side of my house while the storm rages war against the world outside. It's a really nasty one; I wouldn't be surprised if the power failed, causing everything run by electricity to die in my home.

To amuse myself before Zexion shows up, I put 'Hurricane' by 30 Seconds to Mars on my iPod. I gaze out my window, allowing the lyrics and beat of the rock music to fit with the scenery like a movie.

Before the song ends and the next on my playlist begins, the person I'm waiting for shows himself. He appears directly beside me, and of course I'm spooked even if I had been expecting him. "Hot damn!" I laugh, "You've got to stop doing that."

"There's no other way to do it," Zexion replies honestly.

I look down at my socks. "Actually… I was, um, kind of thinking about that. Maybe there is another way."

"There is?" Zexion says, his head tilting adorably to his right.

I nod and nibble on my lips. I can feel heat rising to my cheeks. "Yeah… I was thinking that, maybe, you'd like to meet up in person this weekend? Say, on Saturday at noon? We can meet at the entrance to your school, and then go out for coffee or something –" I say in a rush.

My gifted friend blushes slightly. "Roxas, are you asking me out on a date?" he says demurely.

I smirk. "And what if I am?"

His embarrassment melts into that of amusement. "Then I would have to say yes, naturally."

I barely contain my excitement. "R-really?" I say, my face lighting up from the inside out.

Zexion gives me one of his rare, true smiles. "Why would I say no? I'm the one who stalked you."

I chuckle and run a hand through my blond spikes. "I can't deny this, for it is true," I say, quoting something (but for the life of me I can't remember what).

Before I know it, an hour passes by. We spend it chatting about our likes and dislikes, as well as my own parental history to make us even. Then, Zexion yawns – or, at least, tells me that his body is yawning where it is – and says that he's going to fall asleep, so he might as well leave.

"So then, Saturday at noon," Zexion repeats.

I grin and nod to confirm. "Yep. And don't stand me up, or I'll hunt you down."

His eyes smile, even if his mouth doesn't. "I will do my best to remember."

"That shouldn't be any trouble," I say playfully, "Because I'm sure both of us won't be able to stop thinking about it."

Zexion chuckles lightly. "I can't deny this, for it is true." And we both fall into another bout of laughter before saying goodbye.

I feel like a million bucks.

-X—x—X-

I feel like shit.

I caught a stupid head cold from my stupid walk out in the stupid rain. And it's Saturday, stupid, bloody Saturday, the same day that I'm supposed to go meet Zexion, and I feel like a total dick because if I blow him off because of my sickness, then I'll look even more stupid than I feel since I'm the one who set up this stupid date in the first place!

Arrgh! I want to slap a bitch, I'm so angry.

But instead of harming a bitchy woman or some random female dog, I get dressed in my sexy-date-outfit and head out the door with a miniature pack of Kleenex and a shitload of cold medicine in my system.

I can't seem to get into my car and on the road fast enough. I go over the recommended 'within five' of the speed limit more than once, and when I finally reach my destination, I almost forget to take my keys out of the ignition before I'm racing out of the car and up the front steps to the main doors of the college.

I wait a mere seven minutes (I was counting; I'm pathetic, I know) until Zexion arrives.

He shows up with a mass of other students that come bursting out of the front doors. I nearly topple over from all of them pushing and shoving me, reminding me of middle-schoolers on the first day of summer vacation. I fall backwards, and I would have hit my head had it not been for a thin, strong body behind my own to support me. "Watch out," the person says, "College students are far worse than high school students when it comes to getting out of class."

I immediately know it's Zexion, and I turn around – unable to help myself – and embrace him. "I'll keep that in mind when I enter this college come fall," I grin into his ear. It feels so indescribably good to be able to physically touch him after meeting upon meeting over the past few months with him being no more solid than a wisp of smoke.

Zexion pulls away from my hug, but proceeds to slide his hand down my arm until his fingers become intertwined with my own. He knows that I don't mind. "Where would you like to go?" he asks me. "This was your idea, after all."

I'm so happy that I don't even notice some of the stink-eye type stares being geared towards the two of us. Evidently this college has some homophobics lurking around. Fucking great. I wanted to go here because of Zexion, but I really despise fag-haters. Shaking my head, I guide my thoughts back to the question I was asked. "I don't really care, but I do happen to have a hankering for coffee. So maybe we go on a java run, and then to a movie? There's this new horror flick out, and I want to see it."

"I love horror movies," Zexion says. "And coffee does sound appealing. Let's go."

And so we do. And I've never had more fun with someone in my life. Not even when I was with Sora was I this enthused during a date. I don't know if Zexion's special ability has anything to do with it, but I would like to think that it's the chemistry, and our similarities that evenly match our attracting dissimilarities. Or something like that.

Whatever it is, it's amazing.

-X—x—X-

With a growl, I hurl down my math book and pencil. I can't believe we're still trying to learn stuff in the second before last week of school; I mean, who _does _that? Not the middle school kids. Not the elementary school kids. Not even _college_ kids! So why do we have to?

But at least this is my last year. Come next week, I'm graduating, so who cares about radians and pi and the area and length of sectors of a circle? Not me.

Sighing, I pick up my book and pencil again and dag my calculator out of my messy backpack. Good thing it's the end of the year; I desperately need to clean this baby out. Or, better yet, toss it into the trash and then buy a new one for college; after all, I've used this for all four years of high school. It's maxed out.

Out of the blue, I hear a shuffling noise. I nearly jump out of skin, because the sound is extremely nearby.

"Boo," a male figure says sarcastically as he climbs in through my open window.

"Ahh!" I shriek in response, because I had been minding my own business, doing some pesky math homework, when he decided to drop in. Literally. I pick up a pillow from my bed and chuck it at the intruder. "Fuckin' a', Zexion! How many times have I told you to call or warn me in some way before you stop by?"

"I'm sorry, did I spook you again?" he teases as he comes over to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. He isn't smiling, but his eyes say everything: he's smirking on the inside.

I turn the shade of a nice, ripe strawberry. "_Yes_, you spooked me, asshole," I say with conviction. But I can't resist him. My face breaks out into a wide grin. I yank him down to my height (I'm sitting on the floor, much like how I started when I first saw his astral projection-self) and force him to land in my pretzeled lap.

Zexion sits with his legs on either side of me, his arms wound around my neck. Despite being older than me, he's definitely not the leader of our relationship. I lean forward and press my lips to his throat; it's my favorite place on him. And, I found out a while back, if I lick or kiss or even _breathe _on the back of his neck, Zexion shudders and moans, because he's sensitive there. Hence, his neck is my favorite place.

"Roxas," he pants as I start suckling at his neck, "Don't you… have homework to do…? And… aren't your… parents home?"

I let my hands wander down to his waist, my thumbs slipping under the denim rim of his jeans. "My homework isn't due until the day after tomorrow, so it can wait. And no, my parents _aren't_ home," I say in a husky voice as I bring him closer. "Besides, it's been a week since we've last been together in person. You know how much that torments me."

Having been dating me for five months now, he most definitely knows. So he shuts up and permits me to take control. I assault his neck, attacking it with nips and licks and kisses where I see fit. His head rolls back to give me full access. I take advantage of this and distract him while my fingers curve around his hips and undo the button on his jeans. He gasps, but doesn't say anything. I take this lack of verbal protest as a signal for permission to continue.

My homework – book, papers, pencil, calculator and all – gets shoved to the side, kicked away by my feet. I bring Zexion's shirt up over his head and latch his legs around me as I lift him into the air and plop him down onto my bed. He eagerly tugs my shirt off, and I unzip his fly. He unfastens my pants while I go to work with my mouth on his chest. He arches up into me, hungry for contact, and I realize that being physically apart from me must drive him mad, too.

We shrug off our jeans and press closer together, and the room's temperature soars up a few notches on my internal thermometer. My other internal device, my internal clock, shuts off. I lose track of time as I grind up against Zexion, our mouths clashing scrumptiously every now and then. He grunts when the friction becomes too much, and he thrashes his head from side to side. He doesn't want to say it, but I know what he wants.

I reach down between us and slide off his briefs. Then, without hesitation, I shed my own boxers and position myself so that he can feel me, naked and raw and unafraid.

Zexion's lips tremble, an unspoken whimper. I peer down at his face, which is flushed and lustful, his eyes a darker color than normal. Our eyes connect, and before I have time to react, my boyfriend is bringing his hand down my back and around to my front, his fingers gripping both of our erections at once.

I grit my teeth and bite back a loud moan; holy _fuck,_ why does that feel so much better than it does when I touch myself?

We've never gone this far before; in the past, we've made out and groped around a bit, and once rubbed against one another until we accidentally came in our pants, but this is on a whole other level.

Zexion starts pumping both of us, and I can't stop myself from having one hand assist him while my hips start rocking back and forth into the movements. His do the same. We keep up a spontaneous pace for a while before falling into a rhythm as our hands fall away and the length-to-length contact takes over our senses.

Right as I'm on the brink, Zexion lurches forward and grips me tight enough to break the skin on my back with his nails. He crumbles against me, his inner, more emotional self being exposed as he reaches oblivion before me. I hug him to my body, and with one final jerk, I follow soon after. We lay there on my messy, unclean bed for a moment and breath heavily.

Once our breathing returns to normal, I roll off of Zexion and lay on my side facing him. I reach over and wipe some of the sweat from his brow and then bend over to kiss his nose. "I love you," I confess in a gentle whisper.

Zexion rolls onto his side and buries his face in my chest. I wrap an arm around him. "I've loved you for as long as I've known you," he mumbles into my skin. "I can't believe hat I get to have you. My life has been…" he drifts off. Then, without a description since I already know, he finishes, "And then I experimented, trying to see if I could visit you. When I discovered that I could, I couldn't stop. And I'll never stop, because I don't want to." He curls against me, seeming suddenly fragile in my arms. Is he crying? I can't tell, but I want to comfort him anyhow.

"I don't want you to stop visiting me, either," I smile as I kiss the top of his head and inhale the scent of his hair: sweet like shampoo, sweaty like sex, and entirely male and Zexion-esque. I love it.

"…Roxas…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for accepting me. I'm weird because of my abilities and slightly anti-social issues, but when I called out to you, you heard me. So thank you."

I know that Zexion doesn't act the same way around other people that he does when he's around me, and I'm in a similar predicament. I suppose it's like we have our secret, inner selves that we only share with each other. And I know, without a doubt, that this is what it's like to have a soul mate.

"You're welcome. Although I should be thanking you; after all, if you hadn't scared the shit out of me that one day, we would have never gotten this close. So I'm thankful that you dared to use your ability, as trippy as it is."

Zexion chuckles airily into my chest, and I feel his eyelashes against my collarbone as he closes his eyelids sleepily. "I'm also glad that I dared," he yawns, and pretty soon, he's asleep.

And this ends up being the first of many, many times that Zexion and I sleep together, in both senses of the word.


End file.
